


Miss Congeniality

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FBI Agent Felicity Smoak's career is on the verge of being derailed. An undercover assignment at the Miss United States pageant, working with fellow agent Oliver Queen, might save her job--but she doesn't realize it will also change her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so happy to be posting this story, which came about thanks to some discussions on Tumblr.  I hope y’all enjoy this rom-com presentation of Felicity and Oliver!
> 
> Many thanks to those who made this fic possible.  First and foremost, the olicityficbang event, which has been a joy to participate in.  Next, my cheerleader honorthedeadbyfighting, who was so enthusiastic about this fic as I was writing.  My beta curvy-tam stepped in halfway through my writing process and offered an eagle eye to catch my mistakes.  Finally, I can’t wait to see the art that captainsummerday will be creating for this fic!
> 
> A chapter a day will be posted until the story is completed.  You can read it on AO3 or on Tumblr.  Happy reading!

“Sir, I understand what you’re saying, but--”

“No, Smoak, you don’t.”  

Felicity felt her heart sink as Special Agent in Charge Slade Wilson rose from his seat behind his desk.  His angry glare pinned her to her chair, making her stomach churn.  It was amazing how very intimidating he was with only one eye.  

Although she had been a FBI agent for three years, even though she had gone through all the same training that every other agent had received, she always felt like Agent Wilson looked at her and didn’t understand how she had made it this far.  

And he wasn’t the only one who looked at her like that.  Because no one understood why a slight, young, blonde woman would want to be a FBI agent--or how she had gotten through Quantico.  But she had:  she had used every reserve of courage and ability inside herself, and she had graduated and immediately been assigned to Cyber Crimes.  An assignment she hadn’t wanted, but one that she had performed to the best of her abilities for two years, until she could transfer to Domestic Terrorism and had been placed in Agent Wilson’s unit.

The man in question leaned forward, his hands resting on his desk, as he spoke slowly and softly, his Australian accent deepening.  “You are on desk duty until your hearing, but I can already tell you, no matter what happens, you’re done in my unit.  You’re going back to Cyber Crimes.”  

“No--sir, please,” she said, knowing she probably sounded like she was begging and not really caring.  “I want to make a difference--not that I can’t do that from behind a computer, but--but I want to do more.  I want to help people.  By getting out from behind a desk and working cases, catching criminals where they are.”  

“And how do you think you could do that when you always freeze up in the field?” Wilson asked, his voice rising in volume.  

Pressing her lips together, Felicity managed to hold back the words that wanted to escape.  All the reasons why she wanted to stay, all the ways she had already helped investigations, all the methods she had tried to fix her problems in the field.  But she had worked nearly a year in Agent Wilson’s unit, and he knew all of that.  His gruff-but-sympathetic attitude had quickly become grumpy-and-annoyed.  Now, though, it was more like anger, disgust . . . he had written her off and there was nothing she could do to change his mind.

It wasn’t fair.  She really had tried to get over this, but so far, she hadn’t found the key.  The thing that would let her do what was needed in the field, instead of being paralyzed and unable to move or act.  But whatever key would open this lock on her abilities, she hadn’t found it yet.  And it wasn’t fair, with how smart she was and how hard she worked, that she didn’t know what else she could do.

Especially when _some_ agents made it all look so easy, but if brains were gasoline, they didn’t have enough to drive around the inside of a Cheerio in a Honda.  

Which also wasn’t fair, she told herself as she slowly stood up, tugging down her blazer.  “Yes, Agent Wilson,” she said, the fight trickling out of her for the moment.  

Her boss gave her a nod of dismissal before he sat down and swiveled around to face his computer.  Felicity turned and walked out, wishing she had the ability to act like she wasn’t bothered by Wilson’s lack of faith in her, but she didn’t have that talent.  

And she never wanted to have that particular talent, really.  

With a soft sigh, she sat down at her desk and distractedly started going through her email.  Knowing that everyone in the bullpen was looking at her, waiting for her reaction.  Probably placing bets on whether she would cry.  

It didn’t matter that she was a certified genius, that her ability with computers had saved the asses of all of her fellow agents.  Just because she tensed up in the field and wore glasses and didn’t act like the other female field agents, everyone thought she should stop trying and stay with her computers.  But hacking and running operation support wasn’t enough for her.  She wanted to do more--she knew she could do more.  

“So . . . Wilson chewed you out?”

Her fingers stuttered on the keyboard, a string of gibberish appearing on the screen.  Taking a breath, Felicity erased what she had mistakenly typed before looking over the top of her glasses.  “In a nice, controlled way.”  

Smiling sympathetically yet cockily at her, Oliver Queen hitched up one hip to sit on the corner of her desk.  She had braced herself for the impact of his blue eyes and his smile, but to have him pull out a move like that, one that put him so close to her . . . Felicity nearly missed what he said.  “Yeah, I had to hold a glass up to the door to hear anything.” 

“Original,” Felicity commented, arching an eyebrow.  It was a sarcastic response, but also an accurate one.  Because Agent Queen wouldn’t know an original idea if it walked up to him and stuck its tongue down his throat.  

Although with how many times she had caught some woman doing that very thing to Oliver, it was little wonder that the original ideas didn’t have a chance at penetrating.  

“Look, Smoak, he’s not saying that you’re not without skills--but maybe it’s time to admit that there’s better units for you.  Like Cyber Crimes or Operational Support,” Oliver said, looking like a GQ model by way of Quantico.

Felicity brushed back some dirty blonde hair that had fallen out of her ponytail, taking a look at Oliver.  Honestly, he was a good guy, for the most part.  Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Oliver Queen had chosen to join the FBI, rising through the ranks thanks to his by-the-book approach and talent with firearms and hand-to-hand combat.  

And he was just so _pretty_.  His body alone was like something out of a museum or a textbook on Renaissance art.  And then there was his face:  a chiseled jaw covered with stubble, lips that looked soft and oh-so-kissable, and blue eyes that could sparkle with laughter or darken with anger.

In short, it was little wonder that Oliver was moving up the ladder while Felicity was barely hanging on to the bottom rung.  And she didn’t begrudge him all the success he had . . . she just wished a little bit of that success was available for her.

“I’m not ready to give up just yet,” Felicity said finally, pushing back from her computer--and away from Oliver--a little.  “I just need to find some way to prove myself.”  

“You’re on desk duty,” Oliver said bluntly.  “You’re not gonna get a chance to prove yourself.”  

 Stubbornly, Felicity lifted her chin.  “I’ll find a way.”  

 “Okay,” Oliver said, sounding like he didn’t have high hopes for her.  “Good luck.”  

And with that, he lifted off from her desk and sauntered to the other end of the bullpen, high-fiving other agents, joking around, acting just like one of the boys.  Particularly when his best friend and partner, Agent Tommy Merlyn, appeared.  

Straightening her oversized sweater, Felicity did her best to ignore it all and spun her chair around to face her computer again.  If she wanted to get another chance in the field, that meant making her own opportunities.  The best way of doing that was putting her brain to work and finding a case.  Something that would convince Wilson that she could do more than analysis and IT work.  

There had to be something.  She just had to find it.  And since she was Felicity Smoak, the one thing she was confident about was her brain.

XXX

Sometimes, she was too smart for her own good, Felicity thought.  Too smart and too curious.  Because that was how she found herself spending two and a half days going through everything the Bureau had on the Citizen.

Most of the Powers-that-Be were frustrated beyond belief by the mysterious terrorist.  He or she or they didn’t operate in any predictable fashion.  At least, not according to the analysts who had been working non-stop to profile the Citizen.  But Felicity knew she could discover what made this bad guy tick.  Of course, she was using “bad guy” in the cliched sense; she had a niggle that the perpetrator of the Citizen’s crime wasn’t your typical suspect.  Not a white male in his twenties with above-average intelligence, a huge ego, and limited social skills, in other words.  

It was thanks to the rise of cyber terrorists like the Citizen that Felicity had been able to wheedle her way into Agent Wilson’s unit in the first place.  She had argued that the FBI needed to be more holistic in its approach, instead of having tech nerds in one division and wannabe James Bonds in another, in order to gave the challenges of modern-day criminals and terrorists.  Wouldn’t it be a validation of her viewpoint if she could uncover the Citizen’s next target?  

So far, the Citizen had attacked a scientific museum in Philadelphia, a guided missile destroyer, and most worryingly, had sent dozens of letters to Cheryl Sandberg, of _Lean In_ fame--letters that vowed eternal support and promised to hurt any of her detractors.  And there were suspicions that three other women, also involved in scientific fields, had been briefly targeted by the Citizen in the same way.  

The Citizen always sent warnings before their attacks, yet since they were usually written in code, the warning was never understood before the damage occurred.  But Felicity kept feeling the oddest sense of understanding whenever she read one of the warning messages.  There was . . . there was _something_ there.  Something that everyone had missed, something simple and obvious.  Something that seemed even more clear with the latest warning, the one that no one could figure out.  

 _pretty maids in a row_  
_calculating but not calculators  
_ _pride of their state?_

 _no beauty_  
_no peace  
_ _not without the mind_

 _cogito ergo sum  
_ _until boom_

But after sixty hours of work, with only short breaks for sleep, Felicity had it.

Her eyes alight with her discovery, Felicity barged into the daily meeting, the meeting she had been barred from since being put on desk duty.  “It’s the Miss United States pageant!” she exclaimed, too fired up to care that she was going to get into so much trouble.

At least, at first she was.  But when two dozen pairs of eyes--and one single eye--swiveled around to look at her, Felicity took a deep breath, feeling her cheeks go red.  For some reason, her gaze locked with Olivier's for a moment, noticing how his head was tilted in an appraising yet maybe-a-little-bit-encouraging way.  

“I don’t know whether to ask you to explain that outburst or tell you to get your ass out of here, Smoak, since you’re not a field agent,” Wilson said tartly, before sighing and waving her towards the front.  “What do you mean, ‘it’s the Miss United States pageant’?”

Gripping her tablet a bit harder and hoping it wouldn’t slip out of her hands thanks to her sweaty palms, Felicity stepped forward.  “I’ve spent the last few days going over all our intel on the Citizen.”  

A few groans sounded from the other agents.  “Then you wasted your time,” Wilson told her, sounding even more annoyed.  “No one can figure out that chap’s mind.”  

“That’s where you’re wrong, sir,” Felicity said, lifting her chin and focusing on her boss.  Trying to ignore everyone else in the room.  “I’ve done it.”  

She swiped across the screen of her tablet, tapping into the meeting room’s AV system to display her findings.  “We all know the Citizen’s targets.  I thought there had to be a connection between these targets: the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, the USS Hopper , the threats made against Cheryl Sandberg’s critics, as well as possibly these three other women’s,” she narrated as images filled the screens.  

“What kind of connection?  Who attacks a museum and then turns around to go after a ship?” Tommy Merlyn called out.  

Eyeing Agent Merlyn and trying not to show her annoyance at his interruption, Felicity went on.  “What the targets have in common is women in science.  Women in science and their place in our society.”

There was a moment of silence, before Agent Wilson barked out, “Explain.”  

Hoping her trembling knees weren’t obvious, Felicity stuttered out, “It--it was the naval vessel that seemed wrong, until I realized who her namesake was: Rear Admiral Grace Hopper, the woman who invented the first compiler and is widely seen as inventing the term ‘debugging’.”  

Blank faces greeted her statement.  Frowning, Felicity looked down at her tablet.  It had all seemed so clear to her, but . . . what if it wasn’t?  

“Do you think the Citizen is anti-science?” Oliver Queen asked, his words puncturing the silence.  “Some kind of Amish terrorist?’  

Felicity took a deep breath.  “No--quite the opposite.  I think these attacks are a protest.  Against the limited representation of women in STEM fields.”  

“Then why attack things that celebrate female scientists’ achievements?” another agent asked.  “The USS Hopper had to go into dry dock to repair the damage caused by the Citizen.  Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”  

“I don’t think a beauty pageant celebrates the achievements of scientists,” Oliver observed.  

Merlyn snickered.  “Yeah, beauty pageants are all about nature, not science.”

“Quiet from the peanut gallery,” Wilson snapped.  “Smoak, why this beauty pageant?”

Her confidence rising, Felicity raised her voice slightly.  “The pageant has received corporate sponsorship from a lot of companies, naturally.  Including, for the first time this year, from Intel: a company that, up until this year, also presented a highly-regarded scientific talent search.”  

This time, her words weren’t greeted with blank faces.  No, everyone was leaning forward, putting the puzzle pieces together.  “The Citizen thinks the pageant’s taken the money that went to the science talent search,” Oliver said.  

“Exactly!” Felicity replied, bouncing a little and grinning widely.  “That’s why it’s a pageant and why it’s this pageant.  And he or she is so mad, they're escalating to physical threats instead of just property damage.”  

“Way to go, Smoak,” Oliver said, giving her a quick wink.  

It was all she could do not to blush at Oliver’s praise.  She tugged a little on her sweater and pushed up her glasses before she looked at Agent Wilson.

His lips were pursed and his forehead creased in thought, but he slowly nodded.  “Okay, it tracks.  So Queen, what are you going to do about it?”  

Oliver’s cocky confidence immediately vanished.  “Me, sir?” he asked, shifting in his chair.  

“You’ve been saying for a year that you’re ready to run an op.  Let’s see how you do, kid,” Wilson said, sweeping his gaze over the room.  “Merlyn, Bowen, you work with Queen.”  

Her heart plummeted into her panda flats as the agents clapped and high-fived.  “Sir?” Felicity asked, hating how small her voice sounded.  But then she took a step forward.  “It was my work that led to this breakthrough.”  

Wilson’s jaw tightened, and he opened his mouth to speak only for Oliver to cut him off.  “I’d like to have Agent Smoak on my team, too, sir.  I’m all thumbs when it comes to computers--she can do all our research, letting us get out into the field all the quicker.”  

“The pageant’s next week in San Antonio,” Felicity contributed quickly, only to cringe, mostly on the inside, at Wilson's withering look.

"Fine," Wilson said, somehow making his eye roll even more epic for only having one eye.  "Smoak can help you here in the office.  But she's not following you into the field."

“Yes, sir.  No interest in going into the field,” Felicity lied, trying to sound chastised and resigned to her fate.  Not that she was, but she didn't want to get even further on Wilson's bad side.

"Whatever.  She's your headache now, Queen."

And on that supportive note, Wilson headed back to his office as Oliver accepted the congratulations of the other agents.

Congratulations that were not directed towards Felicity, for figuring out the Citizen's next target.  Sighing quietly to herself, Felicity had turned to return to her desk when a hand caught her elbow.

"That was great work, Smoak."

Glancing over her shoulder, she bit her bottom lip and nodded.  "Thanks, Queen."

He smiled broadly at her.  "Meeting in the conference room in ten, okay?  I gotta have my whole team giving me options for how we're gonna do this."

"What do you mean, options?" Felicity asked with a raised eyebrow.  "We both know what you want to do."

Both of Oliver's eyebrows went up.  "Oh, yeah?  Enlighten me."

Sometimes, he made this too easy.  This didn't require even a shred of her genuis-level intellect.  "You're going to send a female agent in as a contestant and wait to see what the Citizen does during the televised pageant, since he or she is whackadoodle enough to create a big spectacle."

Oliver stared at her, his mouth hanging open.  With a grin, Felicity patted his cheek.  "See you in ten, Queen."

XXX

“Are you sure you’re doing the search right?”

“ _What_ did you just ask me?” Felicity snapped, whipping her glasses off and glaring at Tommy Merlyn, whose charm was definitely not working on Felicity right now.

Oliver quickly intervened, getting between Felicity and Tommy.  “It’s just hard to believe that there’s no one available,” he said, giving Felicity a charming, sheepish smile.  “You’ve gotta agree, right?”

Felicity leaned back in her chair, not really mollified by Oliver’s attempt at smoothing things over, but she was tired and wanted to go home.  The sooner they got this done, the sooner she could leave and sleep in her own bed.  Just because she loved her job didn’t mean she wanted to live at her job.

Folding her arms over her chest, Felicity replied tartly, “I _am_ running the searches right, and I’m telling you, there are no female agents in this unit that could go undercover.”

“How is that even possible?” Carter Bowen, the third member of the team, asked in a smooth, polished voice.

If she thought Oliver played things by the book too often, Carter Bowen _was_ the book.  He was like FBI Ken--and about as animated as a plastic doll.  It was creepy.  

“Men outnumber women four to one in the FBI,” Felicity said, eyeing the other three agents.  “When you’re starting with a small pool, it’s not hard to have a situation like this.”  

“So what you’re saying is, there’s no one who can go undercover at the Miss United States pageant, because all the female agents are either injured, on assignment, or pregnant,” Merlyn said, reiterating what she had already said earlier.  

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying!” she snapped, glaring at Merlyn.

Bowen shook his head.  “I still can’t believe it.  What about Bertinelli?”  

“She’s on desk duty after that last assignment, the one where she shot that mobster,” Felicity reminded him.  

Bowen and Merlyn both winced.  “Wei?” Merlyn asked, but he immediately shook his head.  “She’s infiltrating the Triad, right.”

“You can keep throwing out names, but the computer has already told us the truth,” she said, reaching out to pat the monitor in thanks for its hard work.  “There’s no one who can do this, so you boys are going to have to come up with another way.”  

“You’re wrong.”  

Oliver, who had been silent for most of the conversation, suddenly spoke.  His words had the impact of a boulder falling into a pond: almost sending up a tidal wave.  The rest of the team whipped their heads around to look at him and Felicity frowned.  “Excuse me, are you saying the computers are wrong?”

“Yes.  I mean, no,” he said, leaning forward in his chair.  “What I’m saying is, you’re wrong.  There are female agents that could do this.  Women like you--assigned to desk duty for reasons other than injuries or . . . unfortunate accidents involving shooting a mobster that was in witness protection.  Could you run that search, Felicity?”  

“Of course,” she said, but she couldn’t help feeling a flutter as her fingers typed in the new parameters.  Because . . . could this be Oliver’s way of making her a full member of the team?  Convincing Wilson to give her another chance?  

After a few moments, the search results were spit back, and Merlyn groaned as Bowen grimaced.  “Only one agent.”  

She really did try to make her voice sound light and breezy.  Like she was totally neutral on this topic.  “Yep.  Just me.”  

When she looked at Oliver, the way his shoulders were slumped told her all she needed.  Felicity stood up and straightened her sweater.  “Sorry, Queen.  Guess you’re going to miss out on the delights of hidden-camera footage from backstage at a beauty pageant.”

“Wait a minute,” Bowen said.  His gaze was sweeping over her figure and there was a light in his eyes.  

“If you’re saying you think Smoak could pull this off, you’re crazy,” Merlyn said, his voice full of bluster.  Almost like he was trying to convince himself.  And then his head tilted to the side as he appraised Felicity, too.  

Felicity blinked.  “Wait.  No, are you--you’re not serious?”  Her head swiveled as she looked at Oliver, whose disappointment had vanished as quickly as it appeared.  Now he was looking at her, his eyes slightly narrowed.  “No, Queen, there’s no way--”  

“Do you wear anything other than giant sweaters?” Merlyn asked, leaning forward.

“And those glasses?” Bowen chimed in.  

“Yes and yes, but you guys aren’t going to see that,” Felicity said, drawing herself up to her full height.  Which was still eight inches shorter than the men who were now looking at her.  “Y’know, this is exactly the kind of crap that women have to deal with all the time--this is exactly what the Citizen is fighting!”

There was a moment of silence, and then Oliver asked dryly, “By destroying museum exhibits and setting mice loose on a naval vessel?”

Angrily pushing back a lock of hair that fell into her face, Felicity snapped, “Okay, I don’t agree with his or her methods, but he or she has a point!”

“C’mon, Smoak, just put on a bikini and let us see if you can pull this off,” Bowen said.  

“I saw in a movie where they did this thing with a computer, using outfits from a Barbie website on pictures of women,” Merlyn said with a grin.  “We could do that with you, Smoak.”

She was opening her mouth, her Loud Voice ready to make the point of just how incredibly stupid that sounded, as well as impossible, when Oliver stepped in again.

“Knock it off, guys,” Oliver chided them.  “If Smoak doesn’t want to do it, we’ll figure out another way.  And it’d be a long shot anyway.”  

She was ready to agree with Oliver, her mouth opening, but then his words sunk in.   _And it’d be a long shot anyway._  

He didn’t think she could do this.  Whether it was because it was field work, or he just doubted she could be believable as a contestant in a beauty pageant, Oliver was writing her off.  Just like Wilson had done, just like everyone else.  

And for some reason, that hurt the most.  Because it wasn’t like she was friends with any of her coworkers, but . . . but it had always been different with Oliver.  There was--there was something there.  Something that they both recognized and had chosen not to explore, had chosen not to think about.  But if there was anyone in this office who had seemed friendly and supportive towards her, it had been Oliver.  

Until now.  

“What are you saying, Queen?” she asked, resting her hands on her hips.  “You think I can’t be some airhead who just wants world peace?”

Bowen and Merlyn elbowed each other, but Oliver didn’t seem to notice.  He kept his eyes on hers, one eyebrow arched.  “Is that what it sounds like?”

“Yeah,” she replied, challenging him to contradict her.  When he didn’t, just kept looking at her, Felicity lifted her chin.  “If I can prove I could be a credible contestant, will you go to Wilson and make a case for me?”

The other two agents were talking to each other under their breath--probably making a bet about whether she could do this or not--but Felicity didn’t care.  All her attention was focused on Oliver, whose eyes had gone distant.  As if he was looking through her as he turned over his thoughts.  And then, slowly, he nodded.  

“Okay, yeah.  You make yourself into someone who could be a contestant in the Miss United States pageant, and I’ll go to bat for you.  I’ll get you on this assignment--but you’re gonna have to really do this, Smoak,” Oliver cautioned.  “You’re going to have to convince me and Tommy and Carter that you can do this.”  

“I can,” Felicity said, her voice low and firm.  “Meet me at Charley’s in two hours.”  

Oliver’s oh-so-pretty blue eyes looked confused.  “Charley’s?” he asked, clearly not understanding why she had set the meeting place as the bar down the street, the after-hours watering hole for most of the agents in their office.

“When I walk in, if none of you guys recognize me,” Felicity said, gesturing towards her three fellow agents, “then I win.”  

Merlyn’s face had practically been taken over by his wide grin and Bowen looked more animated than Felicity had ever seen him.  Oliver’s forehead was creased and he looked uncertain.  But he nodded.  “Okay.”

“Okay,” Felicity said, moving quickly to grab her tablet and shove it into her purse.  “See you later.”  

She needed to be in her car, or at least out of the building, before she started freaking out.  Because she had just staked her entire career on her ability to turn herself into a real-life Barbie doll.  

XXX

Felicity Smoak had never made any bones about the fact that she was a feminist.  She thought it was unfair that women were judged on their appearances more than their brains.  Men didn’t get the same treatment--and it never even crossed the minds of most men how that was the case.  

And rather than try to play the game, to make her looks a factor in her success, Felicity had refused.  And for the most part, it had paid off.  It was her IQ, not her bra size, that got her a full scholarship to MIT.  It was her abilities, not her face, that got her recruited for the FBI.  

Ponytails and glasses and oversized sweaters were comfortable.  They let her do her job without worrying about being out of place, a distraction.  Let her blend in.  

But Felicity Smoak was also the daughter of a cocktail waitress.  She was a woman who had grown up in Las Vegas, who had seen first-hand how you could put on a pair of very high heels and a face full of makeup to become a different person.  If there was one thing Donna Smoak made sure her daughter could do, it was to play up her looks.  Felicity had endured the lessons in makeup and hairstyling and dressing attractively, because that was all Donna could teach Felicity and her mother thought those lessons would serve her well.  

She had never put it to the test, though.  Never thought she would actually use what she had learned in all those hours spent in the bathroom of their dingy little trailer.  Never thought she would put on one of the dresses her mother sent her for Hanukkah or wear the heels that Donna had just sent for Felicity’s last birthday.

But she was.  In order to prove that she had the brain and the talent to be a field agent of the FBI.

It was so messed up, Felicity knew.  But she was desperate enough now to play this game, if it meant she could get what she wanted.  If she could prove she was the best.  

As she walked past the darkened storefronts that lined the block between Charley’s and the parking lot where she had left her car, Felicity could see herself in the windows.  Could see how her bright red dress clung to her curves--not in a slutty way, but in an alluring fashion.  She could see how long her legs looked, thanks to the high-heeled sandals in gold leather.  Her eyes looked huge, thanks to contacts and the careful makeup she had applied.  Her lips were a shade of red that nearly matched her dress, and her hair hung around her shoulders in loose, tousled curls.  

Her feet moved slower and slower the closer she got to Charley’s, her glances at the windows becoming longer and more in-depth.  At the last shop before the bar, Felicity faced the glass, taking in her appearance.  Feeling butterflies flutter in her stomach.  Wondering if she was doing the right thing.  If she was making a mistake.  

No.  She was just pretending.  Going undercover.  She could do this--she had been trained, she knew what to expect, and she was willing to do whatever it took to keep from ending up behind a desk.  To being the kind of IT drone she would have become if she had taken any of the other job offers she had gotten at MIT.  Settled in a safe, ordinary, little life.  

Squaring her shoulders, Felicity lifted her chin and met her eyes in the glass window.  That wasn’t the kind of life she deserved.  And tonight, she was going to take the first step to get what she wanted.  

The effect was spoiled a little when she stumbled as she turned to pull open the door of the bar.  But it was okay--no one noticed.  And she wouldn’t let a tiny little stumble wreck this for her.  

The moment she stepped inside Charley's, Felicity wasn’t herself anymore.  She was a woman who could walk into a bar and draw every eye to herself.  She was a woman who knew she was beautiful, who used her looks to get ahead.  

She was the kind of woman who competed in beauty pageants.  

Just inside the door, Felicity paused, her head turning lazily as she looked around.  She spotted her coworkers immediately, clustered together at the far end of the room.  Suit jackets had been taken off, ties loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up.  It wasn’t just Queen, Bowen and Merlyn--a few other agents were with them, too.  

Good.  Even more of an audience.  

Walking slowly, letting her hips sway, she began moving towards the men.  Watching them all, but finding her eyes kept looking towards Oliver, wanting to see his reaction.  But his back was to the room as he drank a beer and talked with Merlyn.  As Felicity drew close, she could hear a snippet of their conversation.  

“ . . . there’s no way she can pull--”

And then Merlyn made eye contact with her and his words died.  

Her heart started pounding, waiting for a flicker of recognition to appear in Merlyn’s eyes.  But there was nothing.  Nothing but lust.

“Tommy?  What--”  

Oliver turned on his chair, looking in the same direction as his best friend--and finally seeing her.  His eyes widened and his lips parted slightly.  And then, he was trying to stand up from his stool, but he caught his feet on the bar rail and stumbled, practically falling off the bar stool.  

And in this moment, when she should have been feeling relief at winning this bet, when she should be basking in her victory . . . Felicity couldn’t fully do that.  

Because that tiny, ruthlessly suppressed crush she had on Oliver Queen?  The one from which she had suffered during her first six months in the unit until she had made herself get over it?  It just might have roared back to life.  

“So I guess I won the bet,” she said, her voice sounding breathier and higher than normal.

“You bet your ass you did, Smoak,” Merlyn said, his eyes running over her.  “Damn.”

“Let me buy you a drink,” Bowen said, sidling up to them and giving Felicity a smoothly practiced smile.  

Nodding, Felicity looked at Oliver, who still hadn’t said anything.  Who was still standing by his stool, still staring at her.  But his shock had faded, replaced with a strange look in his blue eyes.  A measuring, appraising, probing look that she had never seen when he looked at her.  It made her hackles go up, made her lift her chin higher and throw down a challenge at him.  “Regretting the bet now, Queen?”

“Huh?”  Oliver shook his head, like he was coming back to himself.  “No . . . not at all.  You’ve proved your point.  Tomorrow afternoon, I’m meeting with the head of the pageant.  You’ll come with me when I give them the news.”  

Unable to help herself, Felicity smiled.  She lifted the glass of red wine Bowen had handed her.  “Here’s to a successful mission, then.”  

Amid everyone chiming in with her toast, Felicity could hear Oliver’s voice over everyone else's, like he had been whispering in her ear.

Okay, so she might have a crush on Oliver again.  But she could ignore it until it went away again.  She couldn't let herself get distracted, not when this mission was her chance to prove herself.

Her last chance.  Because if this didn't work out, she wasn't sure if there would be a place for her in the FBI.

And she didn't want to leave, Felicity thought as she watched Oliver.

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check out [the amazing graphics](http://captainsummerday.tumblr.com/post/136221431107/fanart-for-miss-congeniality-by-dettiot-fbi-agent) created by captainsummerday for this fic!

****Smoothing her hands over her sweater, Felicity followed Oliver and Merlyn off the elevator and into the offices of the Miss United States pageant.  It was all glass and chrome and ostentatious flower arrangements in shades of pink and purple: the official colors of the organization, Felicity knew, thanks to her wee-hours-of-the-morning research.

After two drinks at Charley's (she had wanted to hold herself to only one, but Merlyn had insisted on one-upping Bowen), Felicity had gone home and promptly freaked out.  Because . . . what was she doing?  Getting all dolled up for a night was one thing--but going undercover at a beauty pageant?  There was no way she could pull this off!  She’d never had that many friends, certainly not of the female persuasion.  Acquaintances, that's what she had.  And now she was going to be among fifty-six of the most beautiful women in the United States, women that had looks and charm and grace, and she would stick out like a sore thumb.

So after an hour and a half of staring at her ceiling instead of sleeping, Felicity got up and started researching.  Knowledge was power, after all, and it would be worth her puffy eyes and jittery hands.  But now that she was operating on little sleep and a lot of caffeine, Felicity regretted pretty much everything about last night.

Why couldn't she be like other women, whose regrets were about picking up some blue-eyed stranger and taking him home with her?

“Everything okay?”

Oliver's low voice startled her, nearly making her trip over her own feet.  “What?  No!  I mean, yes.  Yes, I'm fine, we're all fine here.”

Merlyn snorted, but Oliver ignored him and kept his eyes locked on her.  “You seem nervous.  You don't have to be.  This meeting is a formality, since of course the pageant doesn't want to put anyone at risk.”

“Of course,” Felicity echoed weakly, as the three agents were ushered into the office of the head of the pageant.

“Ms. Morningside, here's your three o’clock,” announced her assistant, a blonde in glasses who reminded Felicity of herself.  A high-fashion version of herself, that is.

“Thank you, Brie.  Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

_Fat chance of that_ , Felicity thought to herself as she took in Moira Morningside.  The word ‘regal’ seemed to be invented for the woman, after all.  And Felicity wasn’t sure if you greeted a queen with a curtsy or a bow or--not that Moira Morningside was a queen.  Although she _was_ a beauty queen; she had been the first winner of the Miss United States pageant nearly thirty years earlier, and had gone on to work for the national organization.  Seated behind her desk, a heavy fountain pen in her hand, Ms. Morningside gave the three members of the FBI a cool smile before she rose to her feet.  “Would anyone like water or coffee?”

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Morningside, but thank you,” Oliver said, gesturing to Felicity to take one of the two chairs in front of the desk.  He settled into the other one, while Merlyn stood behind their chairs.  

“Moira, darling, what’s this about--?”

Felicity turned her head as a handsome man, charm oozing out of him, stepped into the office.  The man crossed the room and took Moira’s hand, kissing her cheek affectionately.

“This is Malcolm Fields, one of the organization’s vice-presidents and our master of ceremonies,” Moira said, indicating for Malcolm to draw up a chair.  “Agents Queen, Smoak and Merlyn of the FBI.”  

Malcolm’s eyes widened as he sat.  “The FBI?  Oh, my.”  

“Yes, they seem to feel there’s some kind of danger to the pageant,” Moira said, retaking her seat and fixing Oliver and Felicity with a stern, intimidating gaze.  

“There is, ma’am,” Oliver said.  “We have credible analysis that a known terrorist is targeting your pageant.  Therefore, we’d like to have one of our agents inserted to protect the contestants and prevent anything from--”

“What agent will be undercover?  It’s too bad it couldn’t be you,” Malcolm said breezily, winking at Oliver.

Barely biting back a laugh, Felicity looked at Oliver, whose cheeks had gone pink.  Taking sympathy on him, she turned to face Moira and Malcolm and raised her hand.  “Me, it’d be me.”  

Moira’s face blanched and Malcolm let out a quiet noise that could be a snort or a gasp, Felicity wasn’t sure.  She let her hand drop, her fingers immediately plucking at the hem of her sweater.

“Agent Smoak is our best hope of catching the suspect making these threats against the event--and preventing headlines like ‘Three contestants in Miss United States pageant killed’,” Oliver said, his voice steely in a way Felicity had never heard before.  “So what are your concerns?”  

At least Malcolm Fields looked contrite.  Moira Morningside did not.  “If an attack was to be made, it would happen during the televised finals,” she said, her voice brisk.  “So Agent Smoak would need to be a finalist.  A _credible_ finalist.”

“We have information about the contestant from Nevada,” Merlyn said, speaking for the first time.  “Information that makes it best for her not to compete in the pageant.  And wasn’t Miss Nevada seen as a strong contender for the title?”

“She was . . .” Moira said, before sighing.  “So Agent Smoak can take the place of Miss Nevada.  It still doesn’t change the fact that few of the contestants would buy her as one of their own, unless . . .”  

Felicity shifted in her chair as Moira’s eyes locked on her.  “John Diggle,” Moira pronounced.  “That’s who Agent Smoak needs.”  

“Who’s John Diggle?” Felicity asked, glancing at Oliver, who was leaning forward.  “It’s risky, having too many people knowing the truth . . .”

“I must insist that you utilize Mr. Diggle’s skills.  The integrity of the pageant must be maintained,” Moira said, tapping a button on her phone.  “Brie, please come in here.”  

A heavy sigh came through the open line, but then Brie appeared, carrying a tablet in her hands.  “Yes, Ms. Morningside?”

“Could you get me John Diggle’s number, please?” Moira asked, her voice a few degrees colder.  

With a nod and a flounce, Brie left and Moira gave the agents a tight smile.  “With Mr. Diggle, Agent Smoak will have no problems convincing anyone that she’s the real Miss Nevada.”  

The real question was whether she could convince herself, Felicity thought as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her sweater that her twisting fingers had caused.  Even if this John Diggle was a miracle worker, she had plenty of doubts.

And looking at Oliver . . . she could tell that he did, too.  

XXX

The meeting with John Diggle was set in a steakhouse--a fancy one.  Felicity wished she had worn a different sweater, or that she had worn heels instead of a pair of flats.  Thank God she had looked at her feet before she left the house and had exchanged her panda flats for a more professional, albeit boring, pair of black flats.

Although with the way John Diggle was looking at her, it probably wouldn't have mattered.

In the flesh, he was the last man she would have expected of being a pageant coach.  His arms were the size of tree trunks, his manner was quiet, and his eyes seemed to be all-knowing.  If this was an interrogation, she would have already spilled her guts to him.

He waited until their salads had been delivered and Oliver had finished explaining the mission to say anything other than pleasantries.  “It's not possible.”

Merlyn chomped loudly on a carrot.  “If you're worried about her looks, don't be.  Smoak cleans up okay.”

“That's not the problem,” Mr. Diggle said, his voice rumbling like a distant storm.  “She doesn't have the confidence, the presence, the charisma of a contestant.  Without that, she is just a pretty woman.  But someone who can win the Miss United States pageant must have an undefinable and ineffable quality.  I can't teach that in three days.”

“Isn't that why Moira Morningside referred us to you, though?” Oliver asked, leaning forward.  “So you could teach Agent Smoak what she needs to know?”

Mr. Diggle let out a soft sigh.  “It might appear like that, but you don't understand pageant politics.  I'm still out in the cold, which is why Moira has dumped this task in my lap.”

“What'd you do to get on Morningside’s bad side?” Merlyn asked.

“It's not just Moira Morningside; all the movers and shakers have isolated me because they thought I coddled my girls too much.  That they didn't have the instincts to really be competitive and give everyone a good show,” Mr. Diggle said, his voice sounding weary.  “No one expects me to succeed, and even if by some fluke I do make Ms. Smoak into a real contestant, it won't matter.”

“It would matter to you.”

Everyone at the table turned to look at Felicity, but she kept her eyes fixed on Mr. Diggle.  “This is important to you, otherwise you would have gotten out of pageants by now.  But you do care, and you want to prove everyone wrong.  Show them you still have it,” Felicity said quietly.  “And this way, you could also help save the lives of every contestant in this pageant.  And I'm not exactly a girly-girl, but I know how women talk.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver lean back in his chair, a half-smile on his face.  He didn't say a word, letting her persuade Mr. Diggle.  It was all good cop-bad cop, but it was also him showing his belief in her--something Felicity hadn’t expected.  She let herself glance at him for a split-second before she returned her focus to Mr. Diggle.  “Imagine all those women telling their friends, telling girls who want to compete, about what a special coach John Diggle is.”

After a long moment, Mr. Diggle inclined his head.  “Maybe it's not as impossible as I thought.  But it's still going to be a lot of work.  Developing your persona, strategizing how to best present that to the judges, instructing you in how to interact with the other contestants . . . and we only have three days before you would need to be in San Antonio for the pageant preliminaries.  I've been too soft in the past with my contestants and I'm not going to make the same mistake with you.”

“I'm not a living Barbie doll, Mr. Diggle,” she said, lifting her chin.  “This assignment is very important to me.  I can work hard.”

There was a healthy measure of judgement in his eyes, but Mr. Diggle just nodded again.  “All right.”  He rose from the table.  “I have several phone calls to make to my contacts in Texas.  We'll need to fly down there by tomorrow afternoon at the latest, to give us the necessary prep time.”

“You got it, Mr. Diggle,” Oliver said, standing as well to shake his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Diggle,” Felicity said, shaking his hand after Oliver.

“You'll hate me before this is over, so save your thanks for the end of this folly,” Mr. Diggle said.  “You'll be in touch about flights and accommodations?”

Oliver agreed, but Felicity was too puzzled by Mr. Diggle’s closing shot to say anything more before he left.  But then she turned to look at Oliver.  “What have I gotten myself into?”

“A beauty pageant,” Merlyn said cheekily.

XXX

“The Miss United States Pageant was founded in 1986,” droned Mr. Diggle as the hairdresser highlighted her hair.  “Unlike the Miss America pageant, Miss United States is never controversial, serving as a shining beacon of femininity.”

“A contestant doesn't walk, she glides,” Mr. Diggle chided as her finger and toe nails were buffed, shaped and polished.

“Remember, losers wear a frown, winners wear a crown,” Mr. Diggle harped while her teeth were cleaned.

For the last thirty-six hours, Felicity had felt like the life-sized Barbie doll she had claimed not to be.  She wondered if this treatment was Mr. Diggle's revenge upon her for that crack.  It was like a unique form of torture--if non-stop training, constant beauty treatments and no food or sleep was something that could be classified as torture under the Geneva Convention.

And Oliver, the jerk, was no help.  With eating big, greasy sandwiches right in front of her and drinking hot coffee--”Caffeine causes dehydration, making you look older, and you're already older than the average contestant, Ms. Smoak,” Mr. Diggle had told her with no small amount of sadistic glee--and giving her a cover name that was frankly appalling.

“Felicia Fox?!?!” she barked at him, holding out the wallet with her new driver's license, the seaweed mask on her face so tight on her muscles that her words came out slightly slurred.  But she knew the anger definitely came through.  “Felicia _Fox_?”

“I told Tommy and Carter to develop and plant your new identity,” Oliver said, holding up his hands.  But she could see the twinkle in his eyes that showed how amused he was.  “Blame them.”

“Oh, I do,” she says darkly.  “But you're loving this.”

The too-handsome-for-his-own-good bastard just grinned at her.  “How are you doing?” he asked, lightly tugging on one of her new sunny blonde curls.

“Quit it,” she said, pushing his hand away from her hair even as her stomach fluttered at the contact.  “If Digg saw you messing with my hair . . .” she warned, using the nickname she had bestowed on the pageant coach.

“Say no more,” Oliver said, snatching a bag of chips and wandering off.

Felicity watched him walk away, noticing his unfairly-hot ass and wishing her crush hadn't reappeared.  Not that it had ever really gone away, she admitted to herself.  Not really--she had just buried it under wisecracks and mocking, because having a crush on Oliver Queen was worse than pointless.  It was dangerous.  Because there was no way he would ever see her as anything other than a computer geek who couldn't protect herself or anyone else.

But she was going to prove that at least she was a competent field agent.   _That_ was in her control.

“Ms. Smoak, come along.  Time for your hair removal sessions while we talk about interview strategy.”

For once, Felicity didn't mind Digg interrupting her thoughts or even the pang of worry about just how they were going to remove her body hair. Anything to not think about Oliver.

“Coming, Digg,” Felicity said, squaring her shoulders and stepping into the curtained-off alcove where her more private beauty treatments were conducted.  “There aren't any needles involved with hair removal, is there?”

“Not at all, your hair is too fair to respond to electrolysis.  You'll be getting a complete waxing, including your bikini line.”

“Right,” Felicity said grimly, shedding her robe and lying down on the cot so the two aestheticians could get to work.

And at least there was Digg’s voice, throwing out aphorisms like “If you blank on what you're supposed to say, you can never go wrong with ‘world peace’!” to take her mind off the pain.

Although it worked better than she had realized, because it sounded like Digg had said her name several times by the time his loud “Agent Smoak!” registered on her.

“What? I'm sorry?”

Sighing, Digg looked at her.  “You have to listen to me, Ms. Smoak.  I'm not telling you all these things to show off my knowledge.  Because I have forgotten more about pageants than you will ever learn.”

She could feel a spark of anger even as she adopted a sheepish expression.  “I'm sorry, Mr. Diggle.  Having my body hair ripped out with hot wax distracted me from the best way to answer interview questions.”

“You can't let yourself be distracted!” he said, folding those ridiculously huge arms of his over his massive chest.  “The women you're competing against are experienced pageant contestants.  True, some of them might have only completed in their state pageant previously, but contestants from Texas, California, New York--they have been training their whole lives for this!”

“Instead of going to college and getting an education?” Felicity asked sweetly.

Digg pointed a finger at her.  “Then you haven't been listening to a word I've said, because this is a scholarship program.”

“Easy for a man to say that,” Felicity muttered, her rumbling stomach further muffling her words.  “To get scholarships, _you_ don't have to prance around in bikinis and heels.”

It was clear that he wanted to argue with her more, but to Felicity's surprise, Digg just sighed and took a seat.  “The most important thing during your interview is to cultivate the appearance of listening.  You can't look like you've drilled your answers so many times that you have them memorized.  Each statement must appear to be formed on the spot, but perfectly phrased and articulated.”

_I'm going to have trouble with that_ , Felicity thought to herself as she let Digg continue.  Like Digg, she chose to let the matter drop and instead did her best to concentrate on what he was saying.  Because she did need to learn this as part of her cover, and maybe it might even turn out to be useful.  She didn't know how, but at least it gave her something else to think about as the wax was applied to her bikini line.

XXX

Nearly forty-eight hours of work had brought her to this point.  Ready--or as ready as she would ever be--to report for the Miss United States pageant preliminaries.  She knew time was ticking away, knew that everyone was waiting to see her, but Felicity kept looking at herself in the full-length mirror.

She had been plucked, scrubbed, polished and molded into the woman in the mirror.  Into a woman who looked the part.  But Felicity knew she was no pageant contestant.  It would take more than hours of instruction and preparation from Digg for her to become the kind of woman she needed to be in order to pull this off.

But there was no more time.  So she just had to go out there and do her best, while protecting an entire pageant from a terrorist and trying not to feel like she was setting back feminism by competing in this pageant.

Something her mother had once said to her suddenly popped into her head.  “You know why only women wear high heels?  We're strong enough to do it.”

Felicity knew men had worn high-heeled shoes at different times in history.  But for some reason, her mother's words comforted her today, however historically inaccurate they were.  Helped her straighten her spine and turn away from the mirror.  Ready to face her fellow agents, ready to face the other contestants.

Ready to face whatever lay ahead of her in this mission to take down the Citizen.

Adjusting her normal stance because of the high heels, Felicity strode toward the warehouse doors, where everyone was waiting on the other side.  The beauty technicians, the FBI agents . . .  

The thought of all those sets of eyes on her made her stomach flutter.  But two pairs of eyes in particular made her feel even more nervous.  Digg’s . . . and Oliver's.

And she didn't want to think too much about why she cared most about the opinions of those two men.

As she stepped through the large doors, going from the darkness of the warehouse to the bright sunshine of a Texas morning, Felicity was glad for the sunglasses covering her eyes.  Not only did they keep her from squinting, which would keep Digg from freaking out over wrinkles, but they hid who she was looking at.  The sunglasses let her find Oliver in the crowd and gauge his reaction.

Which . . . she didn't understand at all.  Because other than a slight tightening to his jaw and some kind of finger fidgeting, Oliver didn't say anything.  Didn’t really react--not like everyone else did.

Merlyn and Bowen hooted and held their hands up to her for high fives.  The manicurist immediately checked her nails right after she halfheartedly returned her fellow agents’ salutes, while the hairdresser shook his can of hairspray and gave her hair another shot of the sticky spray.  

Digg just looked at her with a small smile and then shook his head.  “Damn, I'm good.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to retort that it wasn't like she was a hunchback before all this started, but before she could speak, Oliver took her by the elbow.  “C’mon, we have to get moving.  You still need your earpiece and camera, and I want to do some last-minute prep.  Mr. Diggle, you're with me and Smoak.  Guys, take the van.”

The note of command in Oliver's voice was unmistakable, so there was no grumbling from Merlyn and Bowen as they headed to the surveillance van.  Felicity frowned as Oliver pulled her towards the SUV he would drive herself and Digg to the pageant hotel.

“Queen?  You’re acting weird,” she said, her voice low.  

His glance over at her was quick, almost furtive.  Like he was trying to look at her as much as he could in the shortest amount of time.  “Just need to stay focused, now that we’re really getting started,” he replied, yanking open the back door of the SUV for her.  “We both need to be.”  

“I’m focused,” she said, her words infused with emotion.  More than she wanted to show, because the last thing she wanted Oliver to realize was how much he affected her.  But she couldn’t help it.

Oliver paused, one hand gripping the door of the car, as he looked at her.  As he took a good, long look at her, a look that she felt down to her bones.  

“You’re focused, I know,” Oliver said quietly.  “You’ve proven that and I shouldn’t have questioned it.”  

Given that he had apologized without saying ‘I’m sorry’, it was a very nice apology.  Normally, Felicity would give him a hard time.  But she didn’t.  She just gave him a nod of her head and a small smile.  “Okay.  You’re doing great, Oliver.”  

The moment his name slipped past her lips, she wished she could reach out and grab it back.  Because they didn’t use their first names.  It was just . . . too real.  Too intimate.  

And she could tell he felt something, because his eyes widened slightly and he took half a step towards her.  But as soon as he started moving towards her, he moved back.  “Let--let’s go,” he said, clearing his throat.

Nodding quickly, Felicity climbed into the SUV, joining Digg in the middle seat.  Digg, who was eyeing her like he had a lot of things to say, but was choosing to let her squirm.  Squaring her shoulders, she did her best to ignore him as she prepared for what was ahead of her: infiltrating a beauty pageant, acting like she was used to spending all her time with women, pretending that Felicia Fox was who she really was.  

But her eyes kept straying to the back of Oliver’s head, wondering just what was going through his mind right now.

End, Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

 

The contestants in the Miss United States Pageant were staying at a hotel on the San Antonio Riverwalk, not far from the convention center from which the pageant finals would be televised.  As the SUV pulled up in front of the hotel, Felicity saw there were dozens of well-dressed young women, wearing sashes indicating what state they were representing.  She couldn’t help leaning closer to the window, watching them.  

How was it possible that each and every one of them looked like they had never spilled tomato soup on a white t-shirt or had to resort to a ponytail on a bad hair day?  They all looked pristine and polished and perfect.  

And in their midst, looking the most pristine and polished and perfect of all, was Moira Morningside.  

“All right, Ms. Smoak, let’s go.”  

Digg gently nudged her before he opened the door on his side.  Sparing a quick glance at Oliver, who had turned around to look at her but didn’t say anything, Felicity moved to quickly open her door, but took a moment to breathe before she tried to step out of the SUV gracefully.  She felt a small wobble as her right foot made contact with the ground, but she managed to keep her balance.  

With a light hand on her back, Digg escorted her over to Moira.  “Moira, you look lovelier than ever.”  

“Oh, John, you charmer,” Moira replied, before her eyes cut to Felicity and widened.  “Agent Smoak?  I--I mean, Miss Fox.”  

“Hi,” Felicity said, her nerves tying her tongue for the first time in her life.

Moira looked back to Digg.  “You’re still a miracle worker, John.  I’ll take care of Miss Fox from here--why don’t you get the bags and check in for Miss Fox?”

As Moira swept her along, Felicity glanced over her shoulder at Digg and gave him a small, sheepish smile.  He quirked an eyebrow at her and then shrugged, going back to the SUV.

There wasn’t time to look and see if Oliver was watching, not with how Moira was moving so fast.  So Felicity focused on not falling off her heels, keeping her sash from slipping, and going over what Digg had told her about interacting with her fellow contestants.  “Be polite, be friendly, but under no circumstances should you reveal any intimate details or the strategy.  While every woman competing is a good person, some of them won’t overlook any opportunity to cut another contestant off at the knees.”

Given what Felicity knew about women, she doubted that every one of the fifty-plus contestants was a good person, but she knew she could keep things friendly but cool.  It wasn’t that different from how she was with most women, really.

“Here’s the shuttle to the convention center, Miss Fox,” Moira said, depositing her at the door of an open-air trolley car.  “Climb on--Brie, what kind of plan is all this?  How are the shuttles going to get to the convention center on time . . .”  

And like that, Moira was striding away, berating her assistant who stood by with a sullen expression on her face, clutching her tablet against her chest.  

Felicity couldn’t hear what the two women were saying, although it certainly didn’t look like a fun conversation for Brie.  She was a bit surprised that Ms. Morningside put up with so much attitude from her assistant.  But then she noticed some other contestants waiting for her to board the trolley, so she quickly climbed up the steps and started looking for a seat.  

Which . . . was easier said than done.  Because apparently, everyone on this bus were already fast friends.  Conversations were flowing fast and furious, complete with sugary-sweet smiles and cute little high fives.  

Biting her lower lip, she edged down the aisle, holding on to her sash to keep it in place.  Her eyes bounced around, looking for--

“Hey, Nevada, sit with me.”  

Turning her head, she saw that the low, smoky voice went with a dark-haired, green-eyed imp of a young woman.  She gave Felicity a mischievous grin and patted the wooden seat next to her.  “Sorry, no pillows to prevent ass splinters.”  

“Well, that wasn’t something I was worried about before--but now it’s all I’m thinking about,” Felicity said, easing down next to the woman and then wincing at saying exactly what she had been thinking.  

“Me, too--damn it,” the woman said with a chuckle before holding out her hand.  “I’m Thea Dearden.  Wild child of Rhode Island.”  

“Felicia Fox,” Felicity answered, only hesitating for a microsecond on her new name.  She shook Thea’s hand and gave her a small smile.  “Miss Nevada, but you already knew that.”  

Thea’s handshake was firm and her eyes were probing.  “You’re the only one who didn’t have a picture in the face book, so I guessed you must be the mysterious Miss Nevada.  What happened, your head shots got lost somewhere?”

“Something like that,” Felicity said, trying to sit like a lady on the narrow wooden bench.  “Why did you call yourself a wild child?”

“I’m a pageant rebel.  My mom was a beauty queen and brought me up doing pageants, but a few years ago I got out.  I didn’t want any more of the scene.”  

Felicity took in Thea, seeing her expensive haircut and smooth, clear skin.  She would bet that Thea Dearden came from a lot of money.  “So why come back?” Felicity asked.

“It’s a long story,” Thea said with a hand wave.  “A boring one.  But this is my last attempt at living my mother’s dream, so I’m trying to give it my all.”  

“That’s very nice of you,” Felicity said, feeling touched by the story.  “I suppose we’re all here to make our mothers proud.”

Which made Felicity think about her own mother, and what she would think about all this.  While Felicity hadn’t been able to tell her mother about this mission, Donna Smoak rarely missed a beauty pageant, so she would see Felicity during the televised finals--and would probably immediately start blowing up Felicity’s phone with calls and emoji-littered text messages.  And Felicity was actually kind of looking forward to talking to her mother about this experience.  She knew Donna would love hearing all the details, getting the inside scoop on the other contestants and wanting to know who had behaved the worst when the judges and cameras weren’t around.  

After a moment, Felicity realized that Thea was staring at her, her green eyes wide.  “Wow.  That’s really mature.”  

“Oh . . . I guess?” she said, remembering Digg’s warning about acting too old.  At the age of twenty-five, Felicity was eligible to compete, but most of the contestants were no older than twenty-three.  “I just try to look for the best in people.”  

“So do I, when I’m on stage.”  Thea sat up even straighter, folded her hands in her lap, and adopted an angelic expression.  “I like to think of America as a big ship.  And when we work together and respect each other, that’s when the ship gets safely home.”  

“Wow,” Felicity said, feeling a wave of panic.  “You--wow.  You can really turn it on.”  

Thea let out a throaty laugh and gave her head a shake.  “I have been well-trained.  But c’mon, you know how it is.  Even the dumbest girls can memorize something like that.  But nobody really means it.  Nobody except you, it seems.”  

There was such a jaded, world-weary quality to Thea’s voice that Felicity’s heart went out to her.  She knew all too well how it felt, to believe you were letting your mother down.  That you were disappointing her.  

But Felicity had learned that her mother loved her, in her own way, and was proud of her.  She hoped it was like that for Thea and her mother.  

“I guess you’re right,” Felicity said.  “About the memorizing, I mean.  Not about no one meaning what they say.”

“That’s right, blondie.”

Both Thea and Felicity’s heads whipped around towards the woman who had injected herself into their conversation.  She was ultra-muscular, but her face was round and had a distinctive chin dimple.  With blonde hair in beachy waves and bright blue eyes, she looked like the kind of woman who knew how to have a good time.  

“Sara Drake, California,” the blonde said, giving them a small grin.  “Some of us really do mean what we say.  Not me, but some of us.”  

“She means me,” said a gentle-looking Asian woman with a soft smile.  “Competing in this pageant gives me the opportunity to make my voice be heard on important issues.  Which is so important when you’re from a small state like mine.”

Felicity craned her neck, seeing that the woman’s sash read Hawaii, which explained her statement.  

“The size of your state should not matter, only the power of your words and your beliefs,” intoned a regal-looking brunette, who spoke with the faintest trace of an accent.  

“Easy for you to say, Nyssa--New York is too important for anyone to overlook,” Sara jibed.  “Not that anyone could overlook you, either,” she continued, a flirty note in her voice.  

It didn’t miss Felicity’s attention that Miss New York--Sara had said her name was Nyssa?--definitely ran her eyes over Sara before turning her head and looking towards the front of the trolley.  

“Oh, where are my manners?  Hi, there, I’m Laurel Lance, Miss Texas.  I feel like a hostess for y’all, being as this is my home state.”  A polished brunette with a thick accent, Laurel leaned over and held her hand out to Felicity.  

“Felicia Fox, Nevada,” she said, shaking Laurel’s hand and trying not to feel overwhelmed.  And nervous.  And completely out of her element.  Because this?  She hadn’t expected this.  Not serious discussions about social issues, like the conversation that Miss Hawaii--whose name was Shado--and Nyssa were having, or Thea and Sara’s teasing, affectionate remembrances about past pageants they had competited in.  

Where was the backstabbing?  Where was the bitchiness?  Where was the talk about hair and makeup and clothes?  But there was none of that, and Felicity wished that Digg had told her about this.  

“Ladies, ladies!”  

Moira Morningside stood at the front of the trolley, a poised smile on her face as she clapped her hands to draw their attention.  Everyone fell silent, gazing at the pageant director.  

“How about a little song for our journey?”  Moira asked, sweeping her eyes over each contestant.  “And I think you all know what song I mean.”

Actually, no, Felicity had no idea what song.  But apparently, in another example of Things John Diggle Had Not Prepared Her For, the other contestants did.  Because in unison, their voices lifted together in song.

_From sea to shining sea_  
_Like Lady Liberty_  
 _She reigns over all she sees_  
 _She’s beauty and she’s grace_  
 _She’s Miss United States_

Looking around, Felicity bit her lower lip, but at a look from Thea, she quickly started miming along, hoping it looked good enough to fool everyone.  Because she had a cover to maintain, and that--that she knew how to do.  Because Felicia Fox was a talented contestant, expected to be a finalist and provide stiff competition.

It looked like that even after thirty-six intensive hours of training and preparation, she still had a lot to learn.

XXX

Yawning, Felicity covered her mouth with her hand and then looked at Oliver.  “Sorry.”  

The last thing she had wanted to do tonight was more prep with Digg, but when Oliver had knocked on the sliding glass door that served as the window for her ground-floor room at eleven p.m., his cookie bribe had been enough to get her to go along with it.  The jerk hadn’t let her have a cookie, though.  

It was helpful, though, to pick Digg’s brain and get his advice, now that she had met her fellow contestants.  Even though it was somewhat fixed--she was guaranteed to be in the top ten in order to perform her mission--her competitive nature was starting to come out.  

Although given how nice all the other contestants were (to varying extents, at least) she should feel bad about wanting to beat out a girl who really wanted to be Miss United States.  But if she kept anyone from becoming a victim of the Citizen, Felicity figured that was enough of a trade-off.

But now it was that time just before the sun started to rise, when the sky was a pale blue and the birds were beginning to chirp.  And it was just unfair how good Oliver looked in this light.  If she wasn’t so exhausted, she would try to draw out this walk for a little bit longer.  

“No, it’s okay,” he said, giving her a small smile as he walked beside her, his hands in his pockets.  “You’ve been working hard.  But you--you look good.”  

He seemed strangely hesitant about saying that to her, which she didn’t quite understand.  All night, Oliver had been oddly nervous.  He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, until she made eye contact with him, and then he would immediately look away.  If she didn’t know any better, she would think he liked her.  That he had developed some kind of crush on her.  Which . . . well, it was nice.  But also frustrating.  Because had he only noticed her once she got a makeover?  

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  “So I just need to figure out something to do for my talent.  I can’t believe we didn’t think of that before,” she said quickly, trying to keep things from becoming awkward.  

“We were kinda busy,” Oliver said with a quiet chuckle.  “Something was bound to slip our minds. Do you have any ideas for what you’re going to do?”

Blowing out a breath, she shrugged.  “Maybe.  There’s something I used to do in high school that could work.”  She looked at him and smiled a little.  “How’s the investigation coming?  Any more intel on the Citizen?”

Oliver shook his head, looking frustrated.  “No.  Tommy and Carter are doing their best to look over everything, but I bet if you were looking at the data, you’d have it figured out like that.  Wilson actually wanted me to give you a laptop with the data, but I told him no.  You’re already doing enough.”  

“That . . . that’s very sweet of you.”  Felicity looked at him, her head tilted to the side.  He was so strangely uncertain.  It was sweet, but . . . it also made her want to tease him a little.  Get things back to how it was before makeovers and beauty pageants and bets.  And to take advantage of this strange new power she seemed to have over him, even if it was so not her and not the behavior of a feminist.

“Just speaking the truth.  You’re doing great,” Oliver said, his eyes so bright even in the pale light.  “I thought the evening gown looked really good.”  

“Oh, yeah?  So you think I’m gorgeous?” Felicity asked, shooting him a look.  Feeling a wide, mischievous smile appear on her face as the confusion deepened on his face.  “C’mon, Oliver, admit it.  Ever since the makeover, you think I’m gorgeous.”

After a moment, a smile flashed across his face and he shook his head as she started to rhythmically chant “You think I’m gorgeous, you want to kiss me, you want to hug me, you want to love me, you want to smooch me . . .”  

“I think Wilson would look as good in a dress,” he tried, but Felicity was having none of it.  She kept doing her little song and dance, moving in close to him.  

Too close.  Because suddenly, the mood shifted, and Oliver stepped in towards her, overwhelming her with his height and his shoulders and his eyes, locked on her lips, and her voice failed her right after she said, “You want to kiss me.”

Oh, God.   _Did_ he want to kiss her?  Because he was really focused on her mouth.  

For a long, endless moment, they were caught in each other’s gazes.  Felicity was torn between wanting Oliver to kiss her, but also not.  Not like this.  Because she didn’t think he only cared about a woman’s looks, but he hadn’t paid her any attention like this until after Digg made her over.  But that damn crush she had on him was just so strong and he was so pretty . . .

And then she yawned  The biggest yawn ever.  A yawn so big, it felt like her jaw dislocated as her mouth stretched open.  

Oliver immediately stepped back.  “You should get some sleep.  I’ll check on that info about Malcolm Fields getting fired--see if that’s important.”  

Felicity wanted to talk to Oliver about what had happened, wanted to tell him more of the gossip she had picked up from the other contestants, wanted to get another chance at kissing him, but she was just so tired.  So with a sleepy nod, she pulled open the sliding door and slipped into her room, hoping she wasn’t disturbing Laurel.

XXX

The next morning, and totally ignoring Digg’s rules, Felicity got a cup of coffee and sipped it as she walked into the backstage area where the contestants were getting ready for the talent preliminary.  She was a bit nervous about what she was going to do, but since she couldn’t sing, dance, act or twirl a baton, playing the water glasses was her best chance.  

At least she was more confident in her quasi-musical abilities than the costume Digg had provided for her.  All she could say about it was that she would be memorable.

Covering her mouth as she yawned softly, she walked up to the her makeup station, taking another sip of coffee before she began getting ready.

“Hey, girl, you look pretty wrecked,” Thea asked from the vanity beside hers.  

She opened her mouth to give Thea a line about being too excited to sleep, only to see in the mirror how Laurel had paused behind them.  “Oh, she had a busy night,” the Texan said, a catty note in her voice that Felicity had never heard before.  

Both Thea and Felicity turned to look at Laurel as she said to Nyssa, Sara and Shado, “Late last night, a gentleman stopped by the room to escort Felicia . . . somewhere.”  

“I thought there were supposed to be no men allowed--” Shado began, only for Nyssa to sniff, but then Sara pushed past the two of them.

“Now, c’mon, let’s hear Felicia’s side of the story.”  She paused and looked right at Felicity.  “Are you sleeping with a judge?”

Felicity barely managed to hold back a bark of surprised, hysterical laughter.  “Oh--oh, no.  That guy--well, that guy was someone I used to date.  Until I dumped him.”  

As soon as the words were out, she wanted to slap a hand over her mouth.  Because what the hell?  She had to hope Laurel hadn't gotten a good look at Oliver, because otherwise there was no way she would believe that Felicity used to date Oliver. Or that she had been the dumper.

And thanks to the camera in her flag pin, Oliver was seeing--and hearing--all of this!

Worse of all, her fellow contestants were standing there, curious looks on their faces.  Felicity would have to sell this, or else curiosity could turn into suspicion.  

Slowly she stood up and faced herself in the mirror.  Trying to sell this like a confident woman would.  “Yeah, he was . . . totally obsessed with me.  Like something out of a Lifetime movie.”

Immediately, the other women started nodding, expressions of sympathy and understanding on their faces.  So Felicity kept going, fussing with her hair in order to hide her trembling hands.

“He's very pretty, yeah, but looks aren't everything, you know what I mean?  Especially when the package is deceptive in what it’s advertising.”

“Oh, so you're saying his package was--” Sara began, but Felicity cut her off.  Because she did not want to be thinking about Oliver's . . . _package_.

“That wasn't what last night was about.  Thank God, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings, and it's finally over now and I'm ready to do great today.”

Thea held her hand up for a high-five.  “Way to go, girlfriend.”

“Yeah, let's go kick ass out there,” Sara added, lifting her hand to first Thea and then Felicity.

With a wide smile, she high-fived them both back.  Like they were real friends--which is what these women felt like to Felicity.  She never would have guessed that she would form these friendships so fast.  Not in the midst of a bunch of beauty queens.  And while there were a few over-the-top competitors like Laurel, most of the contestants seemed to look at the pageant as an opportunity for personal growth and advocacy, bringing attention to causes that mattered to them.  It was really inspiring.

“Ten minutes until Group A!” bellowed Brie as she moved through the backstage area, her ever-present tablet in her hands.

“Thanks, Brie,” Thea called out, only for Brie to give Thea--and the rest of them--an icy look before moving on.

“Brrrr,” Thea remarked, nudging Laurel.  

Felicity didn't have the time to cast a longing look at Brie’s tablet--she missed technology--because she still needed to get ready.  But instead of feeling like a chore or a mission to be embarrassed about, she was discovering that this undercover assignment was opening her eyes to a lot of things.

XXX

Was it possible to feel both chastised and defiant at the same time?  Because that was the best way to describe Felicity’s attitude as she stood in the hotel room that her fellow agents were working from.

She was still dressed in the cowgirl costume she had worn for the talent preliminary: a miniskirt and tiny fringed vest in brown suede, over a barely-buttoned plaid blouse.  Her hair was in pigtails under her cowboy hat and knee-high boots covered her legs.  It was designed to make her look equal parts adorable girl and sex kitten.  Felicity added a quality of her own: pissed-as-hell woman.

“It looked like a gun!” she protested for the tenth time.  “I thought it could have been the Citizen and I did my job to protect the civilians in the audience and the women competing in the pageant.”

Oliver rubbed a hand over his face.  “Proper protocol is to inform your backup agents of the suspect and have them move in, so you can maintain your cover.”

“Exactly,” said Agent Wilson, his voice tinny through the speaker of Oliver's phone.  “Instead, Agent Smoak, you apparently leaped from the stage and apprehended the user of a novelty lighter.”

It took everything she had not to stomp her foot and say, yet again, how the lighter looked like a gun. Especially with Merlyn and Bowen smirking at her from across the room.  Instead, she mulishly said, “Yes, sir.”

“Did the fact that you are in Texas, where everyone has a gun, never cross your mind, Agent Smoak?” Agent Wilson asked with cutting sarcasm.  Before she could respond, which was probably a blessing, their boss continued.  “Agent Queen, get her under control.  And I'm sending you the latest information about the Citizen.  Our analysts think they might be closing in.  Stay alert.”

“Yes, sir,” Oliver said, just before the dial tone from the speaker indicated that Agent Wilson had hung up.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to control her anger.  Felicity knew she was angry partly to cover her embarrassment at making another mistake out in the field.  Of course she knew what the proper protocol was, but no one had been able to get eyes on the suspect.  And since she already felt like a fool, in this skimpy costume and playing the water glasses just after Sara sang some aria . . . what was more embarrassment?  And she really did think the guy had a gun!

“Tommy, Carter, can you give us a minute?  Start prepping for the finals,” Oliver instructed them, waiting until they were out of the room to run a hand over his face and then clasp the back of his neck.  “Well, that was the kind of thing I’d hoped I would never have to hear again.”  

“Me getting yelled at, you mean?  Gee, Queen, I didn't know you cared,” she sniped.  It was a stupid thing to say, she knew, but she was tired and hungry and she had a ton of makeup on her face and she missed computers.

Oliver's glare towards her was hot and furious.  “Hey, I'm the one who’s in charge here.  Your behavior reflects on me, Smoak.”

“Sorry that I'm getting a black mark on your record,” she fired back.  “Nice to know my team leader is more worried about his rep than his agents.”

“What?” he snapped, getting in her face.  “I was the one who went to bat for you on this assignment!”

Felicity glared at him, lifting her chin and refusing to back down.  “You coulda fooled me just now.  You didn't say anything to defend me or yourself--you just spouted off the rules like nothing else matters!”

The anger crackled between them like electricity.  Oliver was still glaring at her, still hovering over her.  She refused to back down, though.  Because he wasn't this kind of agent, wasn’t this kind of man.  He was loyal and supportive towards his fellow agents.  He didn't leave people high and dry.  Not until now.

And then, Felicity pressed her lips together as she felt the tension change.  Become something different.  Oliver felt it, too.  His breathing got faster, and did he--he looked at her mouth!  His eyes flicked down to her lips, and she could have sworn his lips parted and the very tip of his tongue appeared, like he was about to lick his lips, when he suddenly took a huge step back from her.

“You--you probably have something you're supposed to be doing right now.  As a contestant, I mean.”  Oliver's words were spoken through clenched teeth.  “I'll get you a status update tonight.”

Blinking, she could only stare at him for a moment.  Her hand fluttered up towards her face, subconsciously looking for a pair of glasses to adjust.  But since she was wearing contacts, instead she just looked like she had some kind of physical tic.  But--that was . . . Oliver had acted like he wanted to kiss her.  Again.

Which was just not fair at all, because it was giving her too many ideas and she had a lot on her mind already.  Dealing with Oliver Queen and his very distracting mouth would be a lot to think about on a normal day, and this was really far from a normal day.

“Um, okay,” she said, trying to gather her wits.  For God’s sake, she had a master's degree from MIT--one man shouldn't be enough to make her brain reboot like this.

But Oliver was.  And she really needed to get away from him.

“Talk to you later,” she said quickly, leaving the room as fast as she could in her uncomfortable boots.

XXX

“What is the greatest gift we can give to future generations, Miss Nevada?”

Malcolm Fields was a true performer.  He had already asked that question of at least thirty-five of the fifty-plus contestants, and each time, he made it seem that it was the first time he had asked it.  What was more, he acted like each contestant's answer was fresh, new and intriguing.

Even if pretty much everyone had put some spin on ‘world peace’ for her answer.

That is, until it was ‘Felicia's’ turn.

“I would say closing the gender pay gap, Malcolm,” Felicity blithely said, her best beauty queen smile firmly in place.

Although her answer was perfectly valid--not to mention extremely necessary from an economic and social standpoint--the audience was not sold on it.  Because their response was to sit there, staring at her.

Gripping the microphone tightly, Felicity internally sighed.  “And . . . world peace.”

That brought the applause, and Felicity made herself keep smiling at the audience.  

“Thank you, Felicia!  Miss Nevada, everyone!” Malcolm said, keeping the applause going as she exited the stage and joined Digg in the wings.

“That was very good, until the last answer.  Nice save.”  Digg sounded extremely amused.  “Glad to see something stuck with you.”

“Ha, ha,” Felicity said, moving her jaw and lips in a set of extreme movements in order to loosen her smile.  And suddenly, Oliver was there, just when she was in mid-ridiculous expression.

Because of course.

“Good, you’re both here,” he said quickly, fumbling with an folder.  “We just got back a hit on the profile cross-matching with the contestants, and we need you to get confirmation.”

He withdrew a photo from the folder and held it out to Felicity and Digg.  She felt her eyes go wide.

“Thea?” she hissed.  “No way,” she argued, glancing over her shoulder as she heard the woman in question's voice, amplified through the public address system.

“Describe your perfect date,” Malcolm had just asked her.  And Thea's response was . . . unusual.

“July 11th, because it's 7-11.  Which not only means free Slurpees, but it's also the best day of the year to go gambling.”

The audience seemed to be just as confused by Thea's flippant answer as they had been by Felicity's.  And even Malcolm's easy smile appeared a touch strained now.

“That's who you suspect of being a STEM terrorist?” Felicity asked, staring at Oliver.

He sheepishly rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.  “She matches the profile: rebellious, secretive . . .”

Felicity rolled her eyes and shoved the photo at Oliver.  “This is ridiculous.  What am I supposed to do?”

“Get her talking, see if you can lead her towards the Citizen and his position on the world.  See how she reacts,” Oliver said.

“I haven't done an interrogation since the Academy,” she replied, feeling stumped.  

“Don't think of it that way,” Oliver advised.  “Just do . . . girl talk.”

Felicity’s forehead wrinkled.  Girl talk?  Like she had ever done that.  Her few female friends were all driven career women like herself.  When they got together, they talked about tech advances and current events, not men and mascara.  And she didn't think girl talk would work with Thea.

But she would bet Thea would like some company after what had happened in the interview preliminary.

“Okay, okay, I'll talk to her,” Felicity said, pulling the communication device out of her ear.

“What--what are you doing?” Oliver asked, looking worried.

“I don't want Merlyn and Bowen in my ear, providing color commentary,” she says tartly.  Then she rolled her shoulders and went to find Thea.

End, Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Here's to another year of Olicity and fic! :-) Hope you enjoy this last chapter; a short epilogue will be posted tomorrow.

 

Her head was killing her.  But it was nothing on her heart.

She had been prepared for Thea to be upset but hiding it behind a wall of sass and attitude.  But actually, she had been just upset.  Choking back tears, sure that she had totally wrecked her chances at the title.  Saying that she was letting her mother down, that this was her last chance to make her mother proud.

Clearly, this was a situation for mint chocolate chip and wine.  And . . . girl talk.

A call to arms went out, starting with Laurel, because she knew San Antonio and had a car.  Soon, they had all piled into Laurel’s SUV and were on their way to a huge bar in downtown San Antonio.  Nyssa and Sara sat next to each other and talked in quiet whispers and soft smiles.  Shado and Laurel continued a long-standing argument about politics and society.  And Felicity tried to cheer Thea up . . . while finding out if she was a terrorist.  While they drank strange, powerful drinks from test tubes.  

This wasn’t something she was trained for.  

But it had been fun, actually.  To spend time with these women, just hanging out and talking.  At least she had managed to get Thea into a better state of mind--and the test tubes helped her steer the conversation towards science-related subjects.  And that made her realize there was no way Thea was responsible for the Citizen’s actions.  She just didn’t have the technological skillset to be capable of the hacks--and while she was certainly rebellious, Thea could care less about women in STEM.  

What was more, the gossip of the girls had given her another candidate, one who seemed much more likely to Felicity:  Moira Morningside.  

“She was the runner-up until the winner ‘mysteriously’ got food poisoning!  And now, after thirty years of service to this pageant, she’s getting fired!” Felicity exclaimed, looking back and forth from Oliver to Agent Wilson.  

Agent Wilson, who had flown in to wrap up the mission, because the Citizen had been caught.  Allegedly.  The suspect, one Ricky Lee Roderick, fit the standard profile to a T: white male, late twenties, with no formal education but an interest in computers.  He hadn’t been able to attend college--a fact he blamed on affirmative action and ‘some woman taking my spot’--and instead had taught himself how to hack.  He had used his illegal knowledge to acquire money and then had turned to attacks on women as a way to express his anger.

“‘Mysteriously’?” Wilson asked, his voice silky smooth.  “Are you listening to yourself, Agent Smoak?”

“Yes, sir, I am.  And I am telling you, there is still a threat to the women in this pageant.  I have seen and heard nothing so far to make me reconsider my initial analysis: the perpetrator of the crimes linked to the Citizen doesn’t want to hurt women--she wants attention drawn to the lack of female representation in STEM fields.  The suspect currently in custody doesn’t fit this profile.”  Felicity folded her arms over her chest, doing her best to ignore the pounding in her head from all the drinking--and to ignore that she was standing in front of her boss in form-fitting workout capris and a sports bra.

Not to mention ignoring how Oliver’s eyes kept darting to hers--and lingering on her body.  

“You’re the only one who thinks so, Agent Smoak.  This operation is over.  Go pack your bags--if you can do that while still half-drunk,” Agent Wilson replied firmly.  

Why wasn’t Oliver saying anything?  Why was he once again standing like a statue beside her in the face of Wilson's rebuke?  A pretty statue, yes, but a statue none the less.  She knew he believed in her analysis, knew he believed there was danger here--yet he said nothing.  

If he wasn’t going to say anything, then she would.

“Sir, I request to stay behind with a small group of agents.”  

“Denied,” Wilson snapped, standing up and gathering some papers.

“Then I request to stay behind on my own,” Felicity immediately countered, knowing the risk she was taking.  Not just with her career, but with her life.  But she couldn’t leave these women--she couldn’t leave _her friends_ \--unprotected.

Wilson eyed her for a long moment, then shook his head.  “Fine.  At this point, you’re done anyway.  Turn in your badge and gun--or do you need to get them out of your other bra?”  

Well, if she survived this, she was certainly going to report Agent Wilson for sexual harassment.  But for the moment, she merely lifted her chin and remained silent as he shoved the papers in his briefcase and walked out of the room.  

“Thanks again for having my back,” Felicity said, turning to look at Oliver.  Who looked . . . gutted.  Ashamed and embarrassed and worried as hell.  

“Felicity, you can’t stay by yourself,” he said, his hands reaching out to land on her upper arms and hold her in place.  She idly thought she could feel the loops and whorls of his fingerprints, because his touch against her bare skin was that powerful.  But she couldn’t let herself be swayed.  

Breaking free of his hold, she stepped away.  “Someone has to stay, and it looks like it’s going to be me.  I just have to hope I won’t freeze up this time.”  

“No, Felicity--it’s too dangerous,” Oliver insisted, closing the distance between them again but not touching her, thankfully.  “It’s your life on the line.”  

“Yes--because I’m a FBI agent.”  She swallowed and met his gaze.  “I’ll see you back in Washington, Queen.”  

And with that, she slipped out of the room and walked away as quickly as she could.  She had people to protect.

XXX

Taking a deep breath, Felicity tried to keep her nerves under control.  But it was hard.  She just--she needed some confidence.

She didn't know why she went to Digg’s room to get confidence, though.  Through all the training sessions, before and during the pageant, he had been a stern and rigorous taskmaster.  He could give her instructors at Quantico a run for their money.  Yet even though he had never offered her one word of praise, she knew when she had surpassed his expectations of her, when she had done well.  It was all in the look in his eyes and the small smile on his face in those moments when she had succeeded.

“Okay, Digg, I’ve gotta get beautiful one last time--” she began saying as she walked in, but she stopped when she saw the open, half-filled suitcase on his bed.

“I'm afraid you'll have to do that without me today,” he said, quietly placing the hotel robe in the suitcase.  “Agent Wilson has informed me that if I don't leave with the rest of the agents, I won't be paid.”

“Digg, Digg, no,” she says immediately, reaching out and grabbing him by his biceps, which, wow, they were really huge.  

Giving herself a quick mental shake, Felicity looked up into his face.  “I know you said I'd hate you by the time this was over, and yeah, there was that time I pulled my gun on you for a doughnut, but I don't hate you.  I wouldn't have been able to do this without you, and I just need a little help in order to keep everyone safe.  This isn't a job for me anymore.  This is about saving my friends.  If you won't stay for me--which I totally understand because I must have been a pain in your ass--stay for them.”

For an endless moment, they were locked in a battle of wills.  Felicity knew, underneath Digg's carefully cultivated air of jaded cynicism, that he cared about the women in this pageant.  She knew that had always been his greatest failing as a coach: he cared so much that he wouldn't push his girls hard enough.  That was why he had pushed her so hard: not to counteract his reputation and turn over a new leaf, but because he knew the lives of the contestants were on the line.

She needed him here as her backup, because he cared as much as she did.

“Ms. Smoak, I will never be back in the good graces of the pageant elite.  I realized that over this past week.  I'm sorry I can't see you through to the end, but if the FBI doesn’t pay me and Moira won't recommend me, won't provide me credentials--”

His voice was regretful, compassionate, but firm.  He thought she couldn't change his mind.  But Felicity Smoak was too stubborn to give up now.

“I think Moira is the one responsible for all this,” she blurted out.  “She's angry she's getting fired, she's angry that the funding is drying up, and it's twisted her into someone willing to kill.  If you help me, she won't be in charge and you'll get more work than you'll be able to handle.”

Digg stared at her, then let out a bitter laugh.  “That may all be true, Ms. Smoak, but for an intelligent young woman, you've completely missed the real suspect.  Which, I suppose, was always the idea.”

Pushing aside her annoyance at being laughed at, Felicity focused on the more important matter.  “Who did I miss?”

“Moira’s daughter, of course.  Brie Larvin.”

Felicity blinked.  “Angry, annoyed Brie?  She's Moira's daughter?”

“If you had kept me informed about your investigation, I could have told you that days ago,” Digg said.  “There is nothing I don't know about this pageant.”

“Then . . . why--what--”  The questions were coming so fast, she couldn't even voice them.    Thankfully, Digg seemed to understand that--even if he hadn’t understood that he should have told her all of this days ago.

“Brie was never interested in pageants, despite Moira's constant efforts to the contrary.  Instead, she attended CalTech and was very happy there, especially once she started attending protest rallies, making a name for herself as a feminist.”

Felicity nodded as Digg paused, finding herself feeling sympathetic towards Brie.  

“And then, two things happened,” Dig continued.  “Moira chose to invest Brie’s college fund in the pageant and Brie was arrested for some kind of computer crime.”

“What?” Felicity said in shock.  “What kind of mother does that?  And what sort of crime?”

Digg shrugged and Felicity gestured for him to go on.

“Brie took her father's name and came to work for Moira, as payment for Moira getting the charges dropped.  But she's resented it, and her mother, every moment since.”

It all made sense.  Brie must think that if her mother valued science as much as she valued beauty, there would have been no problems with attending CalTech and Moira wouldn’t have invested Brie’s tuition in the pageant.  

But now, Brie had gone too far.  It was up to Felicity to stop her.  And she knew what she had to do.  “I need your phone.”

Without waiting for a response, she scooped up Digg's phone and started dialing.

“Queen.  Where are you, Mr. Diggle?  The car's--”

“Oliver,” she interrupted, “it's Brie.  Digg just told me all about it--it's Brie.  I need you to bring me a computer.”

“Felicity?” he said, sounding amazed.  “It's Brie?”

Why did the sound of his voice make her feel better?  More confident?  Felicity didn't know and she didn't have the time to figure it out.  

“Yes!  So before you leave, I just need you to give me one of the laptops you brought with you,” she said, walking out of Digg’s room with his phone, distantly hearing her coach sigh and start following her.  “I'm on my way to the lobby--that's where you are, yes?”

“I am, but I'm not leaving.”

She came to an immediate stop, so suddenly that she could feel Digg brush against her as he tried not to run into her back.  “You're not leaving?”

“No,” he said, his tone mimicking the same one she had used when confirming the Citizen was Brie.  “Because I follow the rules, and you don't leave a fellow agent without backup.”

Somehow, she managed to avoid pointing out the obvious: that an order from your supervisor trumped any other rule.  Because there was something in how Oliver said those words that implied the rules weren't the reason he was staying.

They were the justification.

“O-Okay,” she stuttered.  “We, Digg and I, we're on our way.”

Hanging up the phone, she passed it to Digg, feeling lost in a daze.  A daze she could only allow herself to enjoy for a moment, since she had a job to do.  But she couldn't help noticing the amused expression on Digg's face when she handed him his phone.

“What?” she asked him as they followed a sign pointing them towards the lobby.

“Just relieved that you and Mr. Queen seemed to have finally figured it out,” Digg said with a small smirk.

There was no time for her to respond, so she just gave him a look as they stepped into the lobby.  And it was like her eyes immediately found Oliver and her heart skipped a beat, but she couldn't let on how she felt when his eyes brightened at seeing her.

Because they had a job to do.  In fact, she had two jobs: take down Brie while competing in the pageant finals.

Before this mission, she wouldn't have thought she could do both.  But over the last five days, she had discovered that she was capable of so much--but only if she used all the parts of herself.  If she used her mind and body, her intellect and her looks, to tackle these two complex tasks.  To take on the world.

That was what she needed to do.  And she could do it, she knew.

She was Agent Felicity Smoak and she would not fail.

XXX

Oliver had come through in ways she hadn’t been prepared for.  Not only did he have a laptop for her, there was also a top-of-the-line smartphone, one that she could keep with her even while wearing form-fitting gowns.  

The fact that he was staying, that he was going to be her backup, made her feel warm all over.  But right now, she had to be Agent Smoak, not Felicity.  So she did her best to not think about that warm feeling as she hurried into the backstage area.  

“Felicia?” Thea asked, looking none the worse for wear after last night.   _To be twenty again_ , Felicity thought.  

She flashed a bright, distracted smile at Thea as she scrambled to get ready.  “Not enough beauty sleep.  You look great.”  

“Thanks . . . okay, there’s no way you’re going to be ready in time,” Thea said, stepping forward.  “You need help.”  

And with that, Thea gestured to Sara and Shado, who immediately started helping.  Before Felicity could blink, Thea was putting hot rollers in her hair, Sara was touching up her manicure, and Shado was applying her makeup.  

It was like something out of a fairy tale, only with human helpers instead of mice and birds.  Although Felicity thought she must be dreaming when she saw Laurel and Nyssa battling with a steamer to freshen up her cowgirl costume.  

Seeing her fellow contestants help her like this made that warm Oliver-inspired feeling spread through her whole body.  She nearly started crying, but she held back the tears because she knew it would ruin all of Shado’s hard work.  

Best of all, the help of her fellow contestants let her begin tracking Brie.  Tracing her footsteps, trying to discover what Brie was planning for her attack.  Considering possibilities, searching for evidence, her mind working and her fingers flying.  

By the time the contestants were called for the opening number, Felicity felt like she had an idea of what was happening.  She sent a quick message to Oliver.

_Watch Moira and Brie.  Nearly got her._

Within a moment of sending the message, Oliver had texted her back.

_on it be careful_

Felicity felt her stomach clench at the message.  Did that mean Oliver thought she wasn’t capable, thus a reminder to be careful?  Or did it mean something else--that he wasn’t questioning her abilities, but simply wanted her to not take any risks that might lead to something bad happening to her?  

With all that going through her mind, it was no wonder she missed two steps during the dance performance that opened the show.  Although the third step she flubbed was because of her phone buzzing, alerting her to one of her searches being completed.  

Ducking past one of the cameras when she stepped off stage, Felicity yanked the phone from her cleavage and looked at the alert.  “Yes!” she fist pumped, before dashing to the laptop.  

There wasn’t much time before she had to change and appear back on stage for the announcement of the top ten, but it was enough for Felicity to start putting together what Brie was planning.  Using her Internet history, her conversations in underground chat rooms, and the orders Brie had placed with online retailers, Felicity began putting together what the Citizen’s plan was for the pageant.

And it all centered around the crown.  Which made complete sense: the symbol of a beauty queen was her crown, so how better for Brie to take her revenge on her mother than by planting a bomb in the Miss United States tiara?

“Felicia!  It’s time!”

Laurel’s voice snapped her out of her head.  “Frak,” she muttered, putting aside the computer and picking up the phone, updating the alerts for when her next round of searches were done.  

This wasn’t working.  She needed more time, she needed less distractions.  But she couldn’t just stop competing, not without blowing her cover.  

Maybe she would get lucky and she hadn’t made the top ten?

XXX

“Felicia Fox, Miss Nevada!”  

Felicity looked around in confusion when her name was called last.  Because she was so preoccupied with wanting to check her phone for the search results and the more names that had been called, the more she had been hoping she was done with the pageant.  But of course she wasn’t so lucky.  

“Felicia Fox hopes to become a pediatrician.  In her spare time, she likes knitting, shopping, and taking long, luxurious bubble baths!” Moira read from the teleprompter as Felicity took her place at the front of the stage with the rest of the finalists.  

Thea grinned at Felicity.  “Way to go, Felicia,” she said.  “We nearly all made it.”  

Looking down the line, Felicity saw what Thea meant: of their group, only Shado hadn’t made it into the top ten.  Which immediately raised the stakes for Felicity.  Because while she wanted to protect everyone, having four of her newfound friends in the top ten meant she wasn’t about to quit.  

Once the cameras had stopped filming, they all filed off the stage, the other finalists chattering with excitement and accepting hugs from the eliminated contestants, before scattering to change into their talent costumes.  

Felicity knew she appeared incredibly distracted, to the point of rudeness, as she headed to her alcove to change.  But she had to find a way to discover what kind of bomb Brie had planted in the crown and figure out how to keep that bomb from going off.

Her costume was half on and she was in the middle of multi-tasking a tricky search and her hair when a throat cleared behind her.  Whirling around, her hands still trying to fix her pigtails, she stared at Oliver.  “What are you doing here?” she hissed.  “You’re supposed to be watching Moira and Brie!”

“Digg’s watching them,” Oliver said, giving her a smile.  “He got persuaded by a certain blonde FBI agent that he could help.”  

From the heat on her face, she knew her cheeks were bright pink.  But she just tightened the ribbons on her pigtails and took Oliver’s arm.  “I think Brie has planted some kind of bomb in the winner’s crown,” she said, drawing him over to the laptop.  “She did her best to cover her tracks, but I found records that indicate she’s got all the supplies necessary.  It’s just a matter of us making sure the bomb doesn’t go off.”  

Oliver nodded, his eyes scanning the information on the screen.  “She’s been walking around with that tablet of hers.  I saw the crown with last year’s winner a little while ago.”  

With a nod of her own, Felicity thought over their resources and their needs.  “Have Digg keep an eye on the crown--no one would suspect anything with him hanging around it.  See if you can get Brie’s tablet away from her without her noticing.  I bet she’s going to use it to trigger the bomb.”  

“Gotcha,” Oliver said, looking at her.  His eyes swept over her, then his gaze returned to her face and he grinned.  “Go get ‘em, cowgirl.”  

“Save it for later, Queen, when we haven’t been blown up, okay?” she asked.  But she knew the tartness of her words were totally belied by her tone and her smile.  

And Oliver picked up on that.  Because he grinned wider and gave her a small salute.  “Aye aye, Smoak.”  

She pushed him out of the alcove, focusing on finishing her preparation, but she did it all with a smile on her face.  

Maybe, just maybe, they could do this.  With Digg helping, and with Oliver providing so much support, she felt a glimmer of hope.  

XXX

“Drumroll, please!” Malcolm said, smiling as he looked at the five finalists.  One of whom was Felicity.

Even more shocking for Felicity than being a finalist was making it into the final five.  She hadn’t realized she had done that well in the preliminaries, but she had.  It had been surprising to join the other finalists:  Sara, Thea, Laurel and Miss Alabama, a crazy-eyed redhead named Carrie.  

Although perhaps not as shocking as Nyssa striding to the edge of the stage after she had been eliminated and announcing she was a lesbian, and that other lesbians should take courage from her to go after their dreams.

After another round of interviews, with Moira trying to trap her yet Felicity somehow managing to evade the traps and give good answers, she was exhausted--and worried.  Because there hadn’t been time to do more against Brie.  And she had no idea how Oliver and Digg were doing.  

“The fourth runner-up is . . . Miss Alabama!”  

She barely heard Malcolm’s announcement and the accompanying applause as she looked around, trying to assess the situation.  Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered, and Felicity knew that it had to be Brie.  

The lights flickered again, going dark for nearly five seconds.  Felicity reached into her dress, pulling out her phone and swiping across the screen.  It was practically child’s play to get into the server that ran the convention center--the server that controlled the lights, heating, video display monitors and even the television control room.  

Whatever Brie was planning, in addition to the bomb, it would create extra chaos.  Felicity couldn’t let that happen.  So her fingers flew as she reset the password for the server, giving her the time she needed to put up a firewall between Brie and the computer.  

The lights steadied and resumed their previous brightness level.  Malcolm smiled at the cameras.  “Excuse our technical issues, folks.  That’s the benefit of live TV: anything can happen!  Now, for the third runner-up . . . Miss Texas!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity saw Laurel’s face look aghast before she pasted a smile on her face.  Poor Laurel--she had wanted to do better than third runner-up.  

Idly, Felicity mused on how shocking it was that her name hadn’t been called yet--she didn’t know how she had gotten this far, even with the pageant pulling strings to get her into the top ten.  But it wasn’t something she could think about in depth, because Brie was trying to hack her firewall.  

“Felicia!” Thea hissed.  

She almost ignored Thea, but something in her voice made her look up.  Looking around, she saw that Sara had joined Carrie and Laurel to the side of the stage.  Which meant Sara was the second runner-up.  Which meant--

Holy shit, the winner was either her or Thea!  

Her mind started working even faster, because she was trying to create plans based on both of the two outcomes.  If by some strange fluke, she was the winner, Felicity knew what she would do: take the crown and start running, putting as much distance between herself and the civilians.  

But if Thea won  . . .

The phone in her hand started vibrating, an unbroken series of buzzes, and Felicity glanced down as she moved towards the center of the stage, standing beside Thea.  She nearly cursed at what she saw.  

Brie had broken through the firewall.  

And before Felicity could do anything to restore it, the lights dimmed and all the monitors, instead of showing the various views from the cameras, started playing the same thing: a video.  

“This is a rallying cry,” a heavily-distorted voice said, speaking over images of newspaper headlines.  WOMEN STILL EARN LESS THAN MEN.  LACK OF WOMEN IN SILICON VALLEY.  VALUABLE MEMBER OR TOKEN: WOMEN IN SCIENTIFIC FIELDS.  

As the video kept playing, all the greatest hits from the Citizen’s letters, Felicity once again was in agreement with the Citizen--with Brie.  But there was no way Felicity could support her methods.  And it was up to Felicity to stop this.  

In the dark, Felicity worked as quickly as she could, the small screen of the phone limiting her.  She nearly had it, when out of the darkness, a single spotlight fell over her and Thea.  

Squinting, she looked up, realizing that the video had ended.

“Announce the winner,” boomed the same modulated voice, now coming through the convention center’s public address system.  

Malcolm looked around frantically, then faced Moira, who had been standing beside him.  Who looked just as shocked and surprised as everyone else.  

Did Moira not know that Brie was behind this?  Felicity frowned, but then refocused her attention on locking Brie out of the system and almost fist-pumped when she got the firewall back up.  

“Announce the winner or everyone in this building will die.”  

A chill went down Felicity’s spine.  Was it a bluff?  She didn’t know.  But she caught Moira’s eye and nodded.  With such a threat, they had to go along with Brie.  

Moira turned to Malcolm and said something, and Malcolm, his voice shaking, said, “V-very well.  The first runner-up, w-who will step in if the winner is unable to perform any of her duties, is . . . Miss Nevada!”  

Felicity barely noticed the man who had stepped up to escort her over to the rest of the runner-ups.  All her attention was focused on Thea, whose face had lit up with a smile.  She looked so thrilled.  She had won the Miss United States pageant and fulfilled her mother’s dream.  

And it might be the last thing Thea ever did.  But not if Felicity had anything to do with it.  

Malcolm began singing the Miss United States song.  Under the cover of hugging Thea in congratulations, Felicity leaned in.  “Don’t take the crown, don’t take the crown!”

“What?” Thea said, the loud music from the PA system and all the applause drowning out Felicity’s words.  Before Felicity could try again, Thea was pulled to the center of the stage, the Miss United States sash draped over her head and a huge bouquet of roses thrust into her arms.

And then last year’s Miss United States appeared, holding the crown on a pillow.  

Where was Digg?  Where was Oliver?  And Brie--where was she?  Felicity didn’t know, but it was clear what she had to do: get the crown away from Thea.  

Taking a moment to check on her firewall and feeling relieved it was still up, Felicity sprang into action.  Moving as quickly as she could in her dress and heels, she made a beeline for Thea, just as the crown was placed on Thea’s head.  The crown was nearly in Felicity's grasp, when suddenly she was yanked away.  It was Laurel and Sara.

“Felicia, don’t do this!  There’s no need to take your disappointment out on Thea!” Laurel shouted, struggling to hold on to Felicity’s arm.  

There wasn’t time for this.  Felicity yanked herself free of the two women and ran towards Thea, who was moving onto the catwalk that stretched out into the audience, waving and smiling at the applauding crowd.  

“Felicity!”  

Whirling around, she saw Oliver, grappling with Brie.  Trying to yank her tablet away from her, but there was a security guard trying to restrain him and keep him from hurting Brie.

It was really up to Felicity.  And there was no time to waste.  So with a complete disregard to Thea’s hair, Felicity yanked the crown off her friend’s head.  

“Owwwwww!  Felicia!” Thea said, sounding mad as hell and completely heartbroken.  

She didn’t have a chance to even give Thea an apologetic look--all her attention was on the crown.  Seeing if there was a way to disarm it, to remove the bomb.  But there was nothing, and then her phone vibrated again.  

It was an alert showing that a cellular device on the crown had been activated.  

Brie had triggered the bomb.  

Acting on instinct, Felicity turned and flung the crown towards the large Statue of Liberty prop that was at the rear of the stage.  Malcolm was still singing the Miss United States song and Thea was cursing a blue streak when the bomb exploded.  

XXX

With a deep sigh, Felicity sank down on the bumper of a police car--one of the many emergency vehicles parked outside the San Antonio Convention Center.  Because when a bomb went off, everyone got called in.  

Fortunately, the bomb turned out to be underpowered--it had been Brie’s first one, and due to the nature of the crown, she hadn’t been able to put enough explosive on it to truly cause major damage.  

But if it had been on Thea’s head when it exploded, the crown bomb would have been enough to kill her.  

Smiling softly, Felicity kicked off her heels and took that in.  She had saved the life of Miss United States.  She hadn’t frozen in the field: she had acted in a way that had saved lives.  

That was pretty cool.  Even if her dress was torn, her hair was a damp rat’s nest, and she had smudges of soot on her face and hands.  At least with her shoes off, her feet were hurting less.  

Brie had been arrested and taken away only moments ago.  So had her mother.  It turned out Moira was fully aware of Brie’s plans to blow up the winner, since it would give the pageant an enormous amount of publicity.  But she hadn’t known about Brie’s protest video, and that had made Moira turn on her daughter.  It hadn’t been pretty.  

Now that the suspects were in custody, it meant that this mission was over.  And it had been successful.  Felicity had stopped the Citizen from taking human lives as part of her crusade.  And she had proven that she could work in the field.  Even if Wilson didn’t want her in his division, she would be welcomed by any other division after taking out the Citizen single-handedly.  

Well . . . not quite single-handedly.

The bumper dipped underneath her and Felicity turned her head, watching as Oliver mirrored her position.  “For someone who just proved everyone wrong and saved the day, you don’t look that excited about it,” he said lazily, smiling at her.  

He was equally bedraggled as her, but it just made him look hotter.  Life was unfair, Felicity thought.  

She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug.  “So much has happened, just tonight, that I think I’m kinda numb at this point,” she told him.  

Nodding, he leaned one arm on the trunk of the car, moving a bit closer to her.  “So . . . I think you might have gotten the wrong impression about me.”  

“Such as?”

Oliver’s eyes were very bright and very blue in his soot-stained face.  And they weren’t leaving her face.  “You seem to think I became attracted to you when you got made over.” 

Felicity felt her breath catch from the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice.  He was utterly serious.  And very close to her.  

“That’s not true,” he said softly.  

“It--it isn’t?” she asked, searching his face, even as she couldn’t help believing him.  He was just too sincere, too serious.  

He shook his head slowly.  “No.  I noticed how remarkable you were from the very beginning, Felicity.  From the day I met you.”  

“You hid it pretty well,” she said, inching closer to him.  

“So did you,” he returned, giving her a lopsided smile.  “With all the mocking and the wisecracks.”

“Not as well as you,” she argued, starting to smile at him before she began chanting.  “But you--you want to hug me.  You want to date me.  You want to kiss me.”

A smile spread across his face as he ducked his head.  And when he returned his eyes to hers, it was to see her leaning in towards him, one hand cupping the back of his head and closing the distance between them.

When their lips met, Felicity closed her eyes.  Unable to believe that she was the one to kiss Oliver.  And even more surprising, he was kissing her back--he was deepening the kiss, with his hand on her back as he pulled her against him.  

The trailer hitch on the bumper jabbed into her knee, but Felicity didn’t care.  Not as long as she was kissing Oliver.  Who could really kiss and seemed to really like kissing her.

And given how lucky she had been so far tonight, Felicity was hoping she would get to kiss Oliver somewhere other than on the bumper of a police car.  

Perhaps in a hotel room.  

End, Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who came along on this ride. I had a lot of fun participating in the olicityficbang and I’m glad I could share this story with all of you. My thanks to honorthedeadbyfighting and curvy-tam for making this story better and to captainsummerday for her amazing graphics. 
> 
> And now, without any further ado, the conclusion to Miss Congeniality!

 

“You know we're doing this all backwards,” Oliver said before kissing her hungrily.  His body pressed hers against the wall, just inside his room, and she held on to him as she returned his kiss.

“How--how do you figure?” Felicity asked when she stopped to breathe.

“Because most people, they go on a couple of dates before doing this.  They have dinner first.  Or at least shower after being caught near an exploding bomb,” Oliver said between the kisses he was peppering along her jaw and down her neck.

She ran her hands from his shoulders down his back, unable to believe that she could touch him.  And that he liked her touching him, if the way he rocked against her was anything to go by.  “We could shower.  Together.  To save water, since the firefighters had to use a lot of it inside the convention center, and we are in Texas.  It's prone to drought here.”  She nipped lightly at his earlobe, then gave it a soft suck.

And came away with a mouthful of soot.

Pulling back, Felicity stuck her tongue out, her face scrunched up as she tried to deal with the lingering unpleasant taste of smoke.  

Oliver laughed at her.  “You see what I mean.”  He walked over to the mini-fridge and pulled out two bottles of water.

“Okay, so maybe we should hit pause so we can shower,” she conceded, opening the bottle he handed her and taking a healthy swallow.

Which was just enough time for her to wonder if he was changing his mind.  If kissing her and the ensuing hot and heavy make out session had been enough for him.  If all of this had been sparked by the life-or-death experience and now that the adrenaline was fading, he was thinking clearly again.

“Hitting pause is good.  We don't have to rush,” he said, taking her free hand and wrapping her arm around him.  Her body came into contact with his from shoulders to thighs, and it felt so good she didn't want to believe he might only want her for her looks.

But before her mind got too befuddled, she was going to make sure.

“You know, I’m not going to look like this all the time--all beauty queen, I mean.  You're not changing your mind?” she asked, looking up at him and trying not to think about how firm he was all over, particularly in one place.

“Nope,” he said succinctly, running his hand along her arm.  “Felicity, I know how this looks to you.  But believe me, the number of times I've thought about what you had under your sweaters . . .”

“Really?” she asked, grinning up at him.

He grinned back, so ridiculously handsome even looking like a chimney sweep, that she had to kiss him.

And after a long, very good moment, he nuzzled her cheek with his nose.  “Really, Felicity.”

“Time to shower, then,” she said, working the buttons of his formerly-white dress shirt.

Oliver laughed--a sound she hasn't heard often enough, and one she was determined to hear a lot more of in the future--and ran his hands over her back.  “Yes, time to shower.  Felicity,” he muttered as he lowered his head to kiss her again.

She gripped his half-open shirt with both hands, kissing him back.  “Oliver,” she moaned against his lips, and his hands tightened on her.

And then he had picked her up and carried her to the bathroom.

“Oh!” she gasped, holding on to him tightly.  

“Sorry, but we need to move this along.  I'm not having sex with you for the first time in the shower, but we have to clean up before we sleep together,” Oliver said, kissing her softly before putting her down and attacking the zipper of her dress.

“In a hurry?” she asked him casually as she pushed his shirt off.  And oh, God, he was really gorgeous.

Her dress was half-off, but Oliver reached out and pulled her against him, pressing his hips to hers.  “That answer your question, Smoak?” he asked,  his eyes hooded and his voice low.

“Completely, Queen,” she said, kissing him hungrily as she fumbled with the rest of his clothes.  Oliver did the same, and within moments they were under the shower spray.

With a few breaks for kisses and touches, they both got clean.  It took two rinses for the smoke and soot to be removed, and Felicity felt much more clean--and definitely desirable, given Oliver's reaction.

“You're sure about this?” he asked as he wrapped a towel around her, his fingers not even brushing against her breasts.

Felicity looked up at him.  Really looked at him, like she was seeing him for the first time.  And there was no choice to make.

“We could date, make sure about this, wait until the time is perfect.  And we could miss our chance.  I've missed too many things by freezing up,” she said, stroking his arms.  “I'm sure, Oliver.  Let’s throw away the rulebook and make our own rules.”

He smiled slowly at her, a smile that was like the sun coming up.  And then they were kissing again, moving towards the bed.  

She lost her towel on the way.  Oliver's stayed on until they hit the bed, resulting in a damp spot on the covers.  But neither of them cared.  Not with how good every kiss and every touch felt.

“Felicity . . . so good--so gorgeous, so smart,” Oliver panted in her ear.  She felt swept away by his passion, a passion she never would have guessed he possessed.

Gripping his shoulders tightly, Felicity rocked against him.  “Oliver, don't stop . . .”

His eyes were so bright and totally fixed on her, and she felt so whole and complete, like she had never felt before, and Felicity spiraled into a brand-new bliss, followed by Oliver.

And all was right in her world.

XXX

Even though they were technically off the clock, and probably didn't even work in the same division anymore and therefore the fraternization rules didn't apply, Felicity didn't try to hold Oliver's hand as they left his room the next morning.  She figured they would want to keep their new relationship quiet until after they got back to Washington and they knew what was going on.

So she was surprised when Oliver took her hand as they walked into the elevator.  She looked down at their joined hands, then up to Oliver, her eyebrows inching up towards her hairline.

“This is okay, right?” he asked.  He was trying to sound unaffected, she thought, but there was a hint of shyness in his voice.  Like he thought she might not want to hold his hand.

“No, no, it's--it's very okay,” she said quickly.

Oliver got that sweet, ducked-head smile she was becoming addicted to, then nodded.  “Great.”

“Yeah, great,” she echoed, smiling at him.

When the elevator doors parted, Digg was standing right there.  “Oh, thank God--Mr. Queen, Ms. Smoak, there's some kind of situation at the farewell breakfast!”

“What is it?” Oliver asked, as Felicity yanked him along as she took off for the ballroom that was the location of the breakfast.

Because she hadn't gone through all of last night for something to happen to her friends _now_!

She pushed through the crowd, still holding Oliver's hand and trying to hear what Thea was saying.

“ . . . she saved our lives, she saved the pageant, and here she is!  Agent Felicity Smoak of the FBI!”

Felicity looked around wildly as the room burst into applause.  Oliver looked equally confused, but he smiled at her and gestured for her to join a beckoning Thea at the podium.

“I knew this was the only way to get you here,” Digg told Felicity quietly.

Even though her cheeks were flushing from all the attention, she knew she had to face the music, so to speak.  So with an awkward wave, she walked up to the front of the room and joined Thea, who looked elegantly beautiful in a royal blue dress, her Miss United States sash, and a replacement crown.

Thea gave Felicity a hug, then pulled back and gave her a small smirk.  “I knew you weren't the average beauty queen,” she says softly before facing the audience.

Shyly, Felicity faced the crowd and smiled as Thea finished her speech.  “The woman we knew as Felicia Fox is the smartest, funniest, most caring person at this pageant--and this year's Miss Congeniality!”

Her mouth fell open as Sara and Laurel stepped forward, draping a sash over her head that bore her new title.  Then Thea stepped back, and it was clear from the applause and whistles that she had to speak.

Stepping up to the mike, Felicity took a moment to look around the room.  To look at all the contestants, the pageant staff, at her newfound friends.  And front and center were Oliver and Digg.  

Feeling a little bit embarrassed, she adjusted the sash.  “I wish I could wear this to work.”

That got a laugh and helped Felicity feel a little more at ease.  “Before this experience, I never would have thought a beauty pageant was where I could make friends.  But coming here and opening myself up to beauty and grace . . . it's changed me for the better.  And I, um--”

She paused, feeling choked up.  Oliver gave her a small, proud nod.  Digg gave her a look of what could only be approval.  And Thea lightly patted her back.

“I feel truly honored,” she said, finding the right words for once.  “And--and I really do want world peace,” she managed to say before she started crying.  She stepped back from the mike and loud applause filled the room.

From all sides, there were people coming to hug her, exchanging email addresses and Facebook pages, and encouraging her to keep in touch.  Felicity felt overwhelmed, but in the good way.

Before this week, she thought that the best way to get ahead was to ignore her looks and just use her mind.  And she still thought her brain was her most valuable possession.  But competing in this pageant had shown her another side, another way to get what you wanted.  She wasn't about to use Preparation H on her undereye bags, but she was certainly going to stop wearing big, oversized sweaters and her glasses every day.  

It was possible to be girly and feminine, while also kicking ass at her career.  Being a well-rounded woman not only would make her life better, it would make her a better agent.  It couldn't be a coincidence that the first mission where she felt confident as a woman was the first mission she didn't freeze up.

And while Oliver liked her big sweaters, she couldn't deny that she liked having his eyes run over her when she was in a dress and heels.

By the time she had finished her goodbyes, she had lost track of Oliver.  Looking around, she spotted him leaning against the wall, watching her with a small smile.

“What's that for?” she asked, walking over to him and taking his hand.  “That  smile--it promises you’re up to no good.”

“Would it be forward of me to ask that you wear only this tonight?”  His fingers reached out to run over her sash and Felicity felt a shiver go down her spine.

“Um, no . . . but you’re gonna have to work for it, Queen.”  She was proud of how steady her voice was, how she met his gaze without wavering.  She felt all of her new confidence, felt like the kind of woman she wanted to be.

His smile widened and he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly over hers.  “I’m looking forward to it, Smoak.”

Going up on her toes, she wrapped one arm around his neck and pulled Oliver in for a real kiss.  

She didn’t know what the future held.  What would happen with her FBI career, what would happen with her and Oliver.  But Felicity knew that whatever happened, she would be able to face it head-on, with determination and belief in herself, wearing a great pair of heels and carrying a tablet she would use to kick ass.  

That was the kind of woman she wanted to be.  So that was who she would be.  

End.


End file.
